Season 10: Episode 1: The Meadow
by Jenthewarrior
Summary: While investigating a massive cave system in Kentucky, Mulder falls victim to a poltergeist that once haunted a French exploration team.
1. Opportunity

**Episode List:**

 **(** _ **This section will list episodes as they are posted. The bottom episode is the one currently being updated. Check my story list for the most recent episode.)**_

 **Episode 1:** **The Meadow:** While investigating a massive cave system in Kentucky, Mulder falls victim to a poltergeist that once haunted a French exploration team.

 **Episode 2: The Sight** : Mulder and Scully face off against an alien parasite who feeds on the psychic abilities of others, namely the local children.

 **Episode 3: The Reaper:** While visiting the Scully family on Christmas, Mulder and Iden stumble upon a weathered treehouse with a mind of its own.

 **XxX XxX XxX**

 **EPISODE ONE: THE MEADOW**

 **Chapter 1.**

 **Wayfield, Virginia.**

 **May 17, 2010.**

It was hushed in the mountains that morning. In the quiet moments before dawn the sky opened up, the clouds dissipated, and the stars were vibrant, displaying the constellations like they were projected on a movie screen. He was miles away from the pollution of city lights, miles away from the influence of the outside world, so even the dimmest stars showed. Some that he had never seen, and that others could never imagine, peeked through in a dense network that, while fleeting, was stunning to behold. He could see the moon more clearly than ever – a massive, apple blossom white orb hovering above the tree line. It made the world glow pleasantly around him.

He was lying on his back in his front yard, surrounded by an ocean of trees and cascading hills, wearing only flannel pajama bottoms that were soaked through with dew and mud. He had his hands folded behind his head to keep his hair out of the grass. It was a little chilly, forcing goosebumps to rise on his arms, but there was a warm breeze blowing from the south and it encouraged him to stay outside. He had barely slept the night before, abandoning his home for this view of the sky. He had room to breathe out here.

His phone vibrated before the sun made an appearance. He had a new email from an address he didn't recognize. He sat up to check it, grimacing when his bottom half sank further into the damp soil. Some nearby birds squalled and streaked into the trees and the dog scrambled up to see them off, giving a few low barks to remind them whose yard this was.

He received a simple message. _I heard about you from a friend – she's a fan of yours – and I thought you might be interested in the disappearances in Kentucky_. It had a digitized version of a Lone Gunmen article, with Mulder as the star. His name was highlighted over and over in the text.

He stared at it for a while, two simple sentences and an article about him, before he shut his phone off and flung it into the grass. He cringed when it rolled toward a puddle, but it stopped short. Frankie, a conglomeration of a cattle dog who had lost her ears to the residential prepubescent psychopath, shot after it and brought it back to him, tossing it against his chest and circling him to get him to throw it again. He waved her off, falling back into the grass with his arms up over his head. He sighed.

It could not be happening again.

His mind was working quickly, drumming up all of the possibilities, trying to figure out who would have his private email, and for what purpose, and to what end. He could think of a hundred ways to say that he wasn't interested, a thousand short, effortless responses that would take, at the most, a few seconds away from his stargazing, but he couldn't make himself do it. He poised his fingers at the letters, holding his phone up, staring at the message, watching the vertical line blink with expectation. He had all the means, but none of the motivation.

He wanted to hop on a plane and figure out what was going on in Kentucky. If they were contacting him it was sure to be supernatural, or at least unusual. He wanted to be part of that world again so badly that it hurt. He had to force himself to close the email again.

He flung the phone, removing temptation by force. He watched it skip across the dirt road and land in the meadow on the other side of the yard. Frankie bolted after it and he smiled, rolling her over and scratching her stomach when she made it back to him. She had a judgmental look in her eyes.

"What?" he asked. "You can't judge me. You ate a poor defenseless bunny last week. I don't have to take this from a bunny murderer." She whimpered, so he flung the phone again. She scrambled up so fast that she sprayed mud over his chest. "Don't say I never did anything for you!"

He was enchanted with the idea of going on another case, of delving into the world he had done his best to forget. Scully wanted peace for them, and it wasn't so bad to settle down, to know where every meal was coming from, and to have casual friends, and sports friends, and cookout friends. It wasn't awful, but it wasn't _him_. He knew that Scully saw it. He knew she worried he would just disappear one day, off on another adventure, and that he would chase his passions to his death.

Frankie dropped the phone beside him, panting, and flopped down on her side. He pulled up his email again, wiping broke blades of grass and drool from the screen.

 _What is the nature of these disappearances?_

He waited, playing the drums on the dog, until the response came.

 _Twenty-one people have vanished from Mammoth Cave National Park. The witnesses – at least the ones that I've spoken to so far – all gave the same story. The person went missing and a few minutes later the group heard a low rumbling, and then frantic screaming._

Mulder was nodding while he read. His mind was already stirring up the lore that he had been suppressing for almost a year. He knew a lot about caves, mostly because the Discovery Channel played almost nonstop in his living room, and he knew a lot about their unsavory inhabitants, from the mole people to the lords of the underworld. He knew of thousands of unexplained disappearances in cave systems across the globe and he had read hundreds of survivors' stories about horrifying monsters, shifting passageways, and dimensional portals within the Earth.

He let himself run away with the idea, his excitement growing, and sent out another email. _I'm interested, but I want to know how you got this email._

 _Betty Olsen gave it to me._

He cringed. She had sent him a few strange news articles in the mail, trying to stir up his interest, and he had communicated casually with her, avoiding any commitment to the supernatural. She had never used another person to contact him before, and she had never sent such a serious case his way. She was a watchdog of sorts for paranormal sightings and reported hauntings. She generally didn't deal in missing people.

Mulder sent a short reply. _How are you involved in all of this?_

 _I'm a biologist. I've been studying the cave system. I have a federal grant to document it. I started hearing about the disappearances on the news and I thought they might be connected to my studies._

 _What exactly are you studying?_

 _I thought I knew, but now I'm not sure. Betty shared my interest in the disappearances and she said this was your area. She recommended I contact you before I investigated it on my own. I have to tell you, though – I think there is something new in those caves._

He couldn't hear him, or even picture his face, but when the response came it made the hair on his neck stand up. _Something new_. It excited him, when it should have deterred him. He knew that most people would shy away from that conclusion, but it was _his_ conclusion. He was swapping emails with someone who thought like he did, and that was invigorating.

 _Send me whatever you have on the disappearances – and your address. I can be out there tonight. Do you know of any good hotels in your area?_

He retreated to the house, leaving wet footprints all the way to his study. He waited on his email, refreshing it over and over again until a message appeared from the biologist. It had his name, Gene Foster, his address, and his phone number, along with several attachments, from photos to audio files. He had also written a short message inviting Mulder to stay in his guest room.

He poured through the files until he came upon a hand-written list of victims. It looked like Gene had written it, put it through the washing machine, and then scribbled on it with several different pens. He had recorded the basic information for each missing person, giving Mulder enough to conclude that they were random, not chosen for any particular trait. Four were children, a third of them were women, and they were various races and nationalities. Some had gone missing from tour groups, some from research parties, and some while trespassing.

He kept reading until the sun came up and he heard the alarm clock going off in the bedroom. He quickly grabbed a towel from the hall and scrubbed the dog down, only getting half of the debris off of his back before Scully shuffled out. She took one look at him and smirked.

"I see you got a good night's rest."

"Couldn't sleep," he responded, heading back into his study. He dropped the towel and wiped up his watery footprints as he went, flopping down into his chair and turning to watch her enter his doorway. She was beautiful, all sleepy and bundled up in a fluffy white robe.

She looked doubtfully at the muddy dog bouncing around at her feet. "I just gave her a bath. Do you have to let her swim in the river?"

"She likes the river. She almost got a duck earlier."

She came over to him, leaning over to look at his computer screen. "Are you writing a profile?"

"No, just doing a little research. I got an email from a biologist who thought I might be interested in something out in Kentucky."

He looked up, finding an appropriate amount of alarm in her expression. She did her best to hide it, but it was always there, whenever he mentioned anything out of the ordinary. She knew he was less than dazzled by their quiet life, but she never brought it up. She let it simmer.

She tried to act casual, picking a wet leaf off of his shoulder while she spoke. Her tone was thoughtful. "So, are you… interested?"

He turned his chair, putting his hands on her hips to draw her closer. "Let me tell you about it, at least. It's pretty fascinating. So far I haven't found any evidence of extraterrestrial or government involvement." He waited, scanning her face. "So you can breathe now."

She let out a breath, looking away. "I have to get ready for work."

"It'll only take a second."

She sighed. "Fine. Lay it on me."

He grabbed the top sheet of the file, which he had printed in its entirety. He saw her frown at the stack of papers. "We need more black ink, by the way."

"Mulder…"

"Listen. Clarence Dawson, a thirty-nine year old postal worker from Kansas, vanished within the three hundred and ninety mile cave system beneath central Kentucky. He was vacationing with his family, a wife and three daughters, when he strayed from his tour group. Within minutes of his disappearance, witnesses in the group heard a low rumbling sound and what many perceived to be the dying screams of Mr. Dawson. A search of the cave was organized, but it's a labyrinth, and much of it remains unexplored. This was the twentieth such disappearance within the last year."

"Why do I feel like this is going to get silly?"

"Late last night a ranger responding to a call for help went missing in a similar fashion. Search groups have been scouring the area since the ranger failed to report back, even going so far as to send search and rescue dogs and remotely operated drones. Now, with all this fancy equipment you'd expect them to find something – a blood stain, a footprint in the mud, _something_ – but as of this moment no bodies have been found, and no signs of foul play have been detected. These people weren't kidnapped, they weren't stabbed to death, they didn't fall down a chasm – they just vanished into thin air, undetectable, never to be heard from again."

"I suppose you have a theory… other than people literally vanishing."

"I have plenty of theories. The caves were carved out by the River Styx, a name you should be familiar with. Ancient legends say that souls of lost travelers traverse such rivers on a ghostly vessel, claiming those who stray too close to the shore."

She stepped a little closer to him, pressing his hair down with both hands. She smiled, amused by his words. "Oh? So are we blaming Hades for this?"

"I have other ideas – but that one is the coolest by far. Some groups claim that mole people live in that part of the caves, and from what I've gathered from this biologist so far, I think he attributes the disappearances to some kind of animal. He invited me out there, but…"

"But what?"

"Do you think I should go?"

He expected her to reject the idea outright, and it almost seemed that she would, but something changed in her expression at the last second. She ran her hand down his face, resting it on his shoulder. "I… I know you don't like it here. I know you hate this."

"I don't hate this," he insisted.

She laughed a little. "Okay, maybe you don't hate it, but you're bored out of your mind. Every night you're out there looking at the stars. You tried to make a raft out of logs last week."

"Succeeded, not tried."

"You accused Gordon of being a Sasquatch."

"It was dark and he's a hairy guy."

"You were caught dumpster diving behind the Mayflower."

He cringed. "…Lobster… people?"

She leaned a little closer, pressing a kiss to his forehead. He was amazed by her patience with him, by the adoring look she gave him even when she was irritated. "My point is… if you want this… if you really want to do this again, I can't stop you. I don't want to… I don't want to hold you back. I want you to be happy. I need you to be happy."

"You _can_ stop me," he whispered.

"Since when?" She withdrew, smiling at him, but there was a deep longing in her. He knew it very well. She left him there, climbing into the windowsill, where soft boards were baking in the brand new sunlight. She looked at the mountains, wistful, and toyed with her pinky toe. "I wish you would take it with a grain of salt, at least. Jumping back into this… it might lead you down the same road. We've lost so much already, Mulder."

"Well, it's the road that brought me to you, isn't it?"

"Don't be cute. You know what I mean."

"I can't help it."

"I just don't want you to get hurt."

He spun his chair around, twisting his lips as he looked at the victim list again. "What about these people?" His voice drifted off. He thought of two dozen people lost in the darkness. "What if they're alive somewhere down there? What if that ranger is still alive down there, but the rescuers aren't equipped to find him?"

"And you are?"

"I have a different perspective, and so does this biologist. He's going down there with or without me, so I might as well be there to back him up."

He slid over to her, resting his chin on her knee. He liked the way the dawn light reflected in her eyes. It reminded him of the countless mornings they had spent together, almost seventeen years of sunrises in that pretty blue gaze. He did his best to reassure her. "I'm not jumping into bed with them anymore, Scully. I'm done with that. I'm done with conspiracies and the government. I'm not… I'm not running blindly off a cliff. You just have to trust my instincts, okay?"

"I do trust you," she responded quickly, smirking. She popped his cheek lightly. "I trust you to get into as much trouble as you possibly can, as fast as you possibly can."

She stretched out like a kitten, watching him for a little while. When she finally released him from her thoughtful expression, she looked around the room, at the collection of newspaper articles and memorabilia he had tacked to the walls. She drew her legs up again, her hand falling down to his thigh, and Frankie hopped into the windowsill with her. She looked at the dog, grimacing at her wet fur, and then she looked at Mulder, twisting her lips.

"So… when are you leaving?"

"Tonight. Later."

She put her hand on his face again, running her thumb over his lips. It was something she did habitually – telling him she loved him while simultaneously telling him to shut up. "Just be careful this time. You have a habit of running headlong into danger. Even if you found out it was an escaped boa constrictor eating people you would-"

"An _escaped boa constrictor_?"

"It was an example." He just grinned at her, and she flicked his kneecap. "Shut up. I get to have theories, too. It's more logical than the lord of the underworld."

"I believe you, sweetheart," he responded, standing and urging the dog out of the windowsill. He frowned at the muddy streaks she left on the old wood. Scully was looking at them too. "Uh, I'll give the dog a bath before I leave. Sorry."

Scully cocked an eyebrow, leaving the window. She circled his office, ruffled his hair, and then slipped out of the room. He followed her into their bedroom, flopping down on the bed and watching her get ready for work. He trailed after her throughout the house, making an effort to hinder her progress to provoke more laughter. He liked the sound of it. Eventually she locked him out of their room and he ended up in his study again, sitting in the tarnished windowsill with his patchwork mutt. He wondered idly how long it would take to scrub the guck out of her fur.

Scully returned to kiss him goodbye, getting momentarily distracted and settling down to lie on his chest for a few minutes. He stroked her hair back carefully, making sure every strand was in place, and she made a soft humming noise in her throat.

"Will you be gone before I get back?"

He shook his head, taking a deep, easy breath. He melted like butter whenever she cuddled up to him like this. He couldn't help thinking how lucky he was to have her affection. It planted a permanent smile on his face. "I'll probably book a midnight flight out of Reagan."

She twisted around in his arms, grabbing both of his hands and wrapping herself up in him like he was a throw blanket. "Good."

He stayed in the window when she left the house, waving at her as she loaded up in their SUV. It was one of two muddy vehicles they had acquired in the last year, the other being his studly silver jeep. It was more brown than silver at the moment, but still the perfect vehicle for taking back country paths and exploring abandoned tobacco buildings.

His eyes followed the gentle slope of the yard as it rolled toward the trees. It was a beautiful place, nestled into a picturesque valley, over a mile away from the nearest patch of asphalt, and a healthy ten minute drive from the tiny town on the mountainside. Their yard only stopped with a series of low wooden fences dancing between the trees. It was a horse pasture, home to several stunning young thoroughbreds and a perpetually grumpy quarter horse. It was beautiful, and lonely, and peacefully isolated from the world. His own little ode to the simple life.

His email dinged, distracting him from his thoughts. It was Gene Foster again.

 _I have a few interviews set up with witnesses tomorrow. I thought you might like to join me. I'm in the process of organizing an expedition into the caves. Pack warm hiking gear._

Mulder smiled to himself. He was open to all of the possibilities, but finding a supernatural being residing in those caves produced a childish excitement in him. He could imagine a dark river winding through ominous caves, its mouth lined with stalactites shapes like teeth, its water as black as pitch. He could see the glisten of flashlights on the water, the deceptive stillness, the eerie silence that follows the sound of dripping in the depths. He could see a ghostly boat, its walls chipped, its sails torn, gliding across the river's surface, full of long-dead faces that watched the shoreline, anticipating claiming another victim. He could see those hands reaching out, taking the lives of those who strayed from their groups, pulling them onto a mystical boat ride that never ended.

He thought the idea was spectacular, but he had no idea how they would solve the problem, if that were indeed the case. He had tried to explain such things to the world with little success.

He spent hours researching, saving important pages to his tablet and leafing through them while he wandered through the house. He booked a flight going out at three in the morning and arriving sometime around five, granted it stayed on schedule. He was pursued from room-to-room by the dog, who desperately needed to be lying across his lap.

When his mind became bogged down by all of the reading, he started writing. He hoped for the supernatural, but he still had to plan for the mundane. He typed out a profile for the potential killer, trying to figure out why anyone would choose a cave as their hunting ground. It was needlessly dangerous, well known, and well-traveled – all things that human killers tended to avoid.

He gave up eleven pages in, crumpling it all up and starting a rousing game of trash can basketball. Frankie retrieved the pieces that missed, rebounding them back to him.

He was coming to the end of his game, with only one more piece of paper in his lap, when he heard another car in the driveway and Frankie bolted through the house. She slipped out through the doggy door, going off like an alarm system all the way across the yard. Mulder followed her more slowly, switching his tablet out for the handgun he kept in the hall drawer and peeking through the front blinds. He saw a familiar car jerk to a stop just shy of the front porch.

He put his gun back and stepped outside, leaning against the pillar on the porch. He knew the faces in the car very well, having seen them relatively frequently for the last year. It was Deloris and her kid sister Iden – _again_.

He whistled to the dog and Frankie streaked back to his side, panting as she flopped down beside him. He waved at the women in the car, putting on his brave face. Deloris was the local psychic, and one offhanded remark by Scully at the hospital had led the woman to attach herself to Mulder. She was convinced he was going to die any second – and while that had been alarming the first two times she had predicted it, it got old after a few hundred false starts. He only tolerated her intrusions because she was kind of hilarious, and a genuinely well-meaning person, even when she was begging for attention. She was a consistent source of entertainment.

Deloris made a warpath toward him, glancing through the open door and making a face, while her sister trailed behind her. She smiled at Mulder as she came to sit on the steps. Frankie went to her lap immediately, begging for a tummy rub.

"Good morning ladies," Mulder said, winking at the kid while her guardian started pulling something from her purse. Iden giggled and looked away from him.

Deloris shoved a half-finished knit scarf in his face. "Fox – Fox, look at this." She twisted the threads, revealing a bead that had been buried between the others. "Look at _this_."

"Is it saying I'll drown in knitwear?"

Iden laughed, but Deloris didn't seem to notice the joke. "No, no, it's so much worse!" She forced him to hold the scarf, and he realized it was damp and cold. She put her hand to her mouth, making a dramatic O with her lips. "Fox… it means you'll become lost… somewhere wet… somewhere cold… and drown."

He had at least a hundred sarcastic things to say to her, having pruned his list since their first encounter, but what she said took the luster right out of him. It had to be a coincidence. He was about to go to Kentucky and enter a labyrinth of caves, where twenty-one people had potentially drowned already. She must have known about it somehow. She must have encountered Scully that day.

He cleared his throat. "I'll be extra careful. Promise."

Deloris was only in her mid-forties, but she had all the drama of an elderly woman, and the energy of a child. She wore those thick glasses that were attached to a beaded chain, dyed her hair every color in the rainbow, and wore clothes from the seventies to give off the illusion of being a diviner. Her outfit, and her disposition, made it exceptionally entertaining to watch her perform. She threw her hand to her head, oversized rings and collections of bangles knocking together, and sighed, putting her other hand on his shoulder.

"Oh… I can see it… the darkness. Oh, you mustn't go to it, Fox. It… it is… so _hungry_."

He put his hand over hers, wearing his patient face. "I'll be careful."

She nodded, tears brimming in her eyes. "Stay strong in the face of death." She retreated down the steps, sweeping her tattered sweater around herself like she was flinging a cape. She paused at her door, looking around as if recalling something. "Will you protect her? I have something to take care of in town."

Deloris had a funny way of asking for a babysitter. She always insisted she had business to take care of someplace else, but Mulder was never sure where she was going, or what she was up to. She also had a peculiar habit of asking people to 'protect' Iden instead of watch her. He thought it had something to do with her purported predictions of death. Perhaps she believed her sister was also going to die any moment, and that she required constant supervision.

He glanced at the kid, who was cooing over his dog, and shrugged. "Sure."

Once the rusted station wagon was at the other end of the driveway, Iden dared to speak up. She wrapped her coat a little tighter around her and looked up at him, rubbing her legs together like a little cricket trying to start a song. "Are you going to the festival, Fox?"

Every year Wayfield hosted a Diviner's Festival in honor of a famous psychic who was born in the area. It was still months away and he had no business committing so soon, but the kid looked so hopeful that he couldn't help himself. "Of course I'm coming. What would a psychic festival be without me? I'm the best psychic around."

She grinned. "No you're not!"

"I am. I never told you that?" He came to sit beside her, rubbing the dog's stomach so she would stop whining at him. He brought his voice down a few levels of maturity, and into a secretive whisper. "I haven't even told Dana yet. I keep having visions of… of taking my raft down the river… and there's ice cream involved."

Her face lit up. "You finished it?"

"Well, the one I made of sticks fell apart, but I bought one of those rubber ones that expands when you pull the cord. Wanna take it for a spin?"

She bounced to her feet and raced across the yard. Frankie flopped around like a fish out of water, and then bolted after her. Mulder laughed, walking inside to get changed. His new raft had the potential to make it all the way to town, and he didn't want to be in his pajamas when they got there. Quite a few people in Wayfield already thought he was crazy.

He found another email waiting on his phone. Gene Foster had sent him more files about the disappearances. He left them downloading and went out to join the kid.

 **XxX XxX XxX**

"I think this is the best idea ever," Iden commented. She was sitting bolt upright, her hand gripping one side of the raft, the other suffocating an ice cream cone. She had vanilla streaks all over her cheeks from the bumpy ride. She smiled at Mulder with all the radiance of the early afternoon sun.

He jammed his walking stick against a rock, changing their course to avoid a tree limb that barely peeked above the surface. He nodded his agreement, letting his stick drag across the bottom of the river. It was almost completely translucent, exposing the minnows that darted away from the shadow of their vessel. They were passing through a field at the moment, heading for another patch of trees that led into town. Ahead of them, the world looked a lot like a Hallmark card, with massive mountains providing the backdrop, and horses grazing in the distance. Behind them, his stout cattle dog was trotting along the shore, dutifully keeping track of them when she wasn't busy sniffing a rocky crevice or chasing after curious birds.

"We could probably take this all the way to the ocean," Mulder said wistfully, shielding his eyes with his hands and squinting, as if he could see the beaches already.

Iden smiled. "I thought they were really far away."

"Well, with the right flotation devices we could hit the open water by… next year."

She twisted around, going to sit on the front of the raft. She dangled her feet in the water, wielding her own stick. She used it to tap the raft, adding a bit of music to their journey. "I think our raft would fall apart," she observed, picking at one of the corners.

Mulder shook it suddenly, startling her so much that she fell backward into the floorboard. He snorted, grabbing her foot and pulling her upright. "I thought I saw a bee."

"You did not," she huffed.

"Really. It was a big one. I feared for my life."

"Fox, you're a crazy person."

"I'm not the one who picked vanilla over chocolate."

She hummed, accepting his judgement, and flopped back onto the inflated bench, forcing her legs up a few times before she managed to backflip behind him. She crawled onto the side and draped herself over it, one foot and one hand skimming the water. She alternated between staring at him and staring at Frankie, who was in pursuit of a frog on the shore.

Eventually the river brought them to town. It ran under two showy, arching white bridges and on to a popular part of the river. It widened and became shallow along the fringes. It forked around a white patch of sand, and on either side parents monitored swimming children. Mulder directed them to the right, waving at excited grade-schoolers as they marveled at his raft. Iden mimicked him, waving like a princess as she perched on the edge. Frankie also did her share of entertaining, begging kisses from the toddlers in the sand and provoking giggles from one of Scully's work friends, who was lounging in the sun with her husband.

Mulder called the dog off with a whistle. "Sorry Nancy!" he called, grabbing Frankie by the collar when she swam up to the raft. He dumped her inside. "She thinks everyone loves her!"

Nancy waved at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. Frankie whimpered, walking along the edge of the raft. She puffed out her chest, perked her ears, and kept watch for them, making sure no intruders dared attempt to enter her temporary home. Iden rolled around in the floor, trying to provoke the dog to play with her, and when her attempts failed she leaned over the water.

When the populated shores passed them by, Iden came to sit with him. She petted Frankie absently, twisting her lips around. "Hey, Fox, can I ask you something?"

He was leery of her suddenly serious expression. He hated to imagine what dark things could go on in her mind. She had lost her mother three years ago to suicide, and she had been the one to come home from first grade and find the body. Since then she had lived with her potentially insane sister, who meant well, but whose parenting skills were severely lacking. Mulder was allowed to forget these things when she was smiling, but when her smiles faded, the darkness reemerged.

He flicked a leaf out of her hair. "Sure. What's up?"

"Do you think I'm really psychic?"

He had asked himself that question many times since meeting this girl and her sister. Deloris claimed to be psychic, a reader of omens and a diviner of the weather, but she laid an even more dazzling claim on her sister. She told Mulder that Iden dreamt of the future in perfect clarity. She knew situations and events that were going to happen, and she had never been wrong.

He was uncertain about his own belief in the ability, having encountered several dozen frauds in his new town alone, but Iden was a special case.

"Do you think you're a psychic?" he asked.

She looked away, taking one more bite of her ice cream and giving the rest to the dog. She wiped her mouth on her shirt – a habit she had, unfortunately, picked up from Mulder – and shifted around, leaning heavily into his shoulder. "I see stuff sometimes. Deloris says I see the future. She says the things I dream about really happen somewhere."

"What kind of stuff do you see?"

Her frown deepened. "I had a dream that momma would die, and then she did. She died just like in my dream. Deloris said we could have saved her."

He took a breath. Leave it to that eccentric woman to blame a nine-year-old for something she couldn't have possibly prevented. "Sometimes things happen," He said, hoping to ease the guilt in her eyes. "Sometimes we can't do anything to stop them."

"But I saw what was going to happen," Iden murmured.

He felt a strange sense of comradery with this little girl. Their lives, from very early on, had been marred by the supernatural, and they would never experience the blissful ignorance of the kids they had passed on the shore. He wasn't sure Iden could understand what she was missing at this age, but he knew she would feel it one day. It would sit like a sour spot in her throat.

"I lost my sister when I was a kid," he said. "I had the chance to save her, but I froze up. I was so scared that I let it happen. I blamed myself for that for a long time, but I realized later that I was just a kid. I couldn't have done anything to help her. Some things are just… destiny."

"Deloris says that a lot."

He swallowed the lump of doubt he had for Deloris and nodded. "She's a pretty smart lady." He reached down and splashed Iden, getting the dog on the backstroke. "And you're a pretty wet kid."

"Hey!" she shouted, jumping away from him. She grinned, grabbing Frankie and hiding behind her. She changed her mind after a moment, diving into the corner and sweeping some water toward him. Her little hand barely made a splash, but she still managed to hit him.

He got drawn into a splash war, and he didn't see a boulder approaching beneath them. The whole raft lurched and he heard an ominous hissing sound.

Iden jumped back to his side, grabbing his arm. "What was that?"

Mulder felt along the bottom of the raft, groaning when water started seeping around his hand. "I think we're sinking." He grabbed his walking stick and reached down for the bottom of the river, dismayed to find his arm wasn't long enough. He tried to use it as a paddle with little success. He could see the rapids starting up ahead, distant white caps running over rocks.

He sat on the edge, grabbing Frankie and dropping her in the water. She swam to the shore and shook herself, whimpering at him.

"Abandon ship," he declared, grabbing Iden and dragging her to the edge with him. He pulled her hand over his shoulder. "Hold onto my neck."

He slid into the water with her, swimming in a diagonal line to the shore. He let Iden climb up first, giving her a hard shove to get her up the slippery clay, and then he dragged himself up after her. He sat up in the sand, watching his raft take the rapids and go on down the river. It would be full of water soon enough. He was grateful he hadn't told Scully about it.

Iden washed the sand off of her knees, laughing as she watched Frankie pursue every bird within twenty feet of them. When Mulder stood up, she scrambled toward him so fast that she almost fell back into the water.

"Okay, me hearty," Mulder said, turning Iden toward a steep incline. "We be walking back home, and we not be mentioning this to Scully unless we be wanting Fox to meet an early grave."

"Aye aye," Iden responded, dutifully saluting him.

It was a pleasant walk that was made awkward by their wet clothes. When they reached the miniature beach again, they got strange looks from everyone, and Mulder avoided making eye contact with Scully's friend. He focused instead on harassing his pint-sized companion, ruffling her hair and shoving her before running across the bridge. She chased him, yelling all kinds of PG pirate curses, and slapped him in the back when she reached him.

"Ow, ow, elder abuse," he complained, dodging another smack. He tipped her head to the side, jumping back before she could react. "You hit like a bologna sandwich."

"You look like a bologna sandwich," she countered.

Halfway back to the house, it occurred to Mulder that his phone was still in his pocket. He took it out, watching with dismay as water drained from the keyboard.

"You need a new phone," Iden stated, smiling a little.

He flicked the battery at her, getting her in the thigh. "Very keen observation there, little lady. Hey, whoa, watch that. Could be corrosive."

She stuck out her tongue, giving Frankie another scratch between the ears and then running at him. She hook both of her arms around one of his. "Carry me back!"

"Do I look like a taxi to you?"

" _Fox_ ," she whined, sinking down to her knees. She clawed at the ground. "I think my legs may be broken. I see the light! I can see my life flashing before my eyes!"

"All five minutes of it," Mulder grumbled. "Hop on."

When he arrived at the house with a soaking wet nine-year-old clinging to his back and a stumpy cattle dog dragging its feet behind him, he was horrified to find the SUV in the driveway. Scully was already starting toward them, looking at him incredulously.

"Mulder, what the hell have you been doing?"

He let the little girl slip down his back. "I bought a raft. Did I ever mention that? Iden and I went for a little ride." Iden wrapped her arms around Scully, smiling up at her. Mulder did his best to look anywhere but her face. "We sprung a tiny leak."

"We were sinking!" Iden said, glancing back at Mulder. She was oblivious to his cease-and-desist expression. "We had to abandon ship and walk home!"

Scully swept the girl's hair back with both hands. "That sounds really exciting."

"Are you on break?" Iden demanded.

Scully glared at Mulder for another split second. "Yeah, honey, I came home to get some lunch. Little did I know what I would find."

"Is Fox in trouble?"

Scully tilted her head, shrugging, and led Iden into the house. "How about we get you a quick bath? You're all muddy. You'll get a rash if you keep those wet clothes on much longer."

She shot one last scowl at Mulder as she escorted the girl into the house. Mulder followed them, changing into a fresh pair of clothes before doing his best impression of a starfish on the couch. He rubbed Frankie down with a towel before allowing her to settle between his legs. She rested her head on his thigh, sighing, and stared absently at the television.

When the girls returned, Iden was dressed in a set of princess pajamas she had left by mistake last week. He could hear the washing machine running in the other room, coaxing the mud and clay out of her jean shorts. She sat on his chest, giggling when Frankie jumped up to greet her.

Scully leaned over his shoulder suddenly, very close to his ear. "Don't burn the house down. I'll be home in a few hours. Channel the responsible adult inside."

"Responsible… what now?"

She slapped one cheek and kissed the other. "Shut up, Mulder."

He spent the rest of the afternoon with Iden, happily taking a break from his research. He hosted a showing of several kids' movies, helped her construct the best blanket fort in the history of the world, and then cut off all the lights and told her the story of one of their past cases, entertaining a question and answer session afterwards. Iden was a bright, curious kid, taking on the strangest mysteries with the most whimsical explanations. It was one of the reasons they connected so well – they thought alike. Iden was just as wild as he was.

Scully came home with Chinse food, obviously delighted when she saw that Iden was still there. She went on a full tour of the blanket fort while Mulder set out the food.

He heard his email ding in the other room, but he managed to ignore it. Scully and Iden joined him, but somehow his mind had managed to wander back into the cave while they were in the other room. He thought again of the people who had gone missing, how devastated their families must be, and it brought his mood down. Scully noticed as soon as he took his seat, but she said nothing. She distracted Iden with the ritual opening of the fortune cookies.

Over an hour later, headlights flashed out front and the Frankie alarm went off again. Scully took Iden to the door, handed her a neat pile of her formerly drenched and muddied clothes, and watched her walk out to her sister's car. Mulder hung back, still munching on the last fortune cookie.

"She needs more stability," Scully commented as she shut the door. She brushed past Mulder, beginning to clean up the table. "Deloris throws that girl around like she's a pet."

"She seems happy enough," Mulder said.

"For now, I suppose."

Mulder shrugged, unfolding his third fortune for the night. He cocked an eyebrow. "You will fall into bed with a beautiful woman."

Scully laughed. "Right."

"Hey, I just obey the signs," Mulder said, sneaking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her stomach. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, sliding her hair back to kiss her neck. She squirmed, still trying to scrape the plate into the trash. "We can't deny our fate, Scully. We have to embrace the signs as they are revealed to us."

She set her plate on the counter, leaning quietly into his arms and shutting her eyes. For a moment he thought she was thinking the same thing he was, but her expression became sad. She ran her hand over his. "You know, she's right around William's age."

He swallowed. Mentions of his son gave him a painful sense of grief. He had never really gotten over that loss – the loss that happened in his absence. He had held William all of one time. He could not even drum up a memory of his face. It stung his heart.

"Yeah," he responded, his voice a little thick.

"You would have been a good dad," she went on, twisting in his arms. She kissed him lightly on the lips, pressing her forehead to his. "Iden loves you."

"You would have been a good mom," he countered. "Iden thinks you run this relationship."

She smirked. "Well, she's not wrong."

When the dishes were done and the house was mostly settled, Mulder returned to the couch. Scully joined him, relaxing into his side for a while before sinking down to put her head in his lap. She held one of his hands, running her fingers over his wrist. He stared at the TV, aware of what he was seeing, but not really watching it. He wasn't particularly interested in penguin migration right now. He was trying to remember what his son looked like.

"I'm sorry I brought it up," Scully murmured, twisting around so she was on her back. She kissed his palm, her eyes glittering in the light of the television.

He smiled down at her, but the expression left him as he spoke. "Can you… remind me? What did he look like? I saw him once before… before he was gone."

She took a deep, settling breath. "He was beautiful. He hardly had any hair – it would have been blonde, or light brown, I think – and his eyes were the prettiest shade of blue. He reminded me of you so much, mostly because he woke up in the middle of the night, every night, and cried until I gave him what he wanted."

Mulder grinned. He raked his fingers through her hair, getting it out of her face. He loved the way she looked in this light, the way she looked when she was remembering something pleasantly, instead of painfully. It reminded him of the dozens of cases they had worked in the moonlight. It gave him a peaceful longing for the past.

She glanced at the clock. "When do you have to leave?"

"Soon, but not too soon."

"Is that why you're always late?"

He laughed. "You caught me."

"I wish you wouldn't go," she whispered, staring into his eyes for a moment. She had heavy thoughts dragging her mind down. He could read it on her face. She was reluctant to say what she was thinking about because the few times that they had breached this topic had led to fights. He shared her hesitation, though he wished things were different.

He drew in a deep breath, tilting his head back to view the ceiling. It was much easier to speak to her, to tell her something she didn't want to hear, if he couldn't see her eyes.

"I have to go, Scully."

He wanted to ask her if she would still be here when he returned. Their last case had brought that question to life. Scully had threatened to leave him for his devotion to the supernatural. She had been serious, too. It was all over her face. He could remember that expression – the expression he loathed the most – more than he could remember the moment they had reconciled. It was the bad things, the looming threats, that clung to him.

Losing her was the worst thing he could imagine, but his passion called him away. He wanted to find those people, to solve this mystery, and to go on to solve the next one.

When he looked down at her again, he found a familiar blankness in her eyes. It was always there when she withheld her feelings. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

 _Ouch_.

He tried to come up with something to say as she rolled off of the couch, kissed his forehead, and retreated to the bedroom. He came up with nothing. He could have gone after her and swept her off her feet, promising that he would drop the case, swearing that he would forget about the caves and the disappearances. He could have saved the situation before it ate away at their fragile new life. He could have done a lot of things to comfort her, but he grabbed his bag instead. He lingered against the bedroom door, listening to her moving around on the bed, and then he left.


	2. Luxury

**Luxury.**

 **Wayfield, Virginia.**

 **May 17, 2010.**

"I think this is the best idea ever."

Iden was sitting bolt upright, her hand gripping one side of the raft, the other suffocating an ice cream cone. She had vanilla streaks all over her cheeks from the bumpy ride. She smiled at Mulder with all the radiance of the early afternoon sun.

Mulder nodded his agreement. He jammed his walked stick against a rock, changing their course to avoid a tree limb that barely peeked above the surface. The water was almost completely translucent, exposing the minnows that darted away from the shadow of their vessel. They were passing through a series of fields, heading for another patch of trees that led into town. Ahead of them, the world looked a lot like a Hallmark card, with massive mountains providing the backdrop, and horses grazing in the distance. Behind them, his stout cattle dog was trotting along the shore, dutifully keeping track of them when she wasn't busy sniffing a rocky crevice or chasing after curious birds.

"We could probably take this all the way to the ocean," Mulder said wistfully, shielding his eyes with his hands and squinting, as if he could see the beaches already.

Iden smiled. "I thought they were really far away."

"Well, with the right flotation devices we could hit the open water by… next year."

Iden twisted around, going to sit on the front of the raft. She dangled her feet in the water, wielding her own stick. She used it to tap the raft, adding a bit of music to their journey. "I think our raft would fall apart." She picked at a corner for emphasis. "See?"

Mulder shook it suddenly, startling her so much that she fell backward into the floorboard. He snorted, grabbing her foot and pulling her upright. "I thought I saw a bee."

"You did not," she huffed.

"Really. It was a big one. I feared for my life."

"Fox, you're a crazy person."

"I'm not the one who picked vanilla over chocolate."

She hummed, accepting his judgement, and flopped back onto the inflated bench, forcing her legs up a few times before she managed to backflip behind him. She crawled onto the side and draped herself over it, one foot and one hand skimming the water. She alternated between staring at him and staring at Frankie, who was in pursuit of a frog on the shore.

Eventually the river brought them to town. It ran under two showy, arching white bridges and on to a popular part of the river. It widened and became shallow along the fringes, forking around a white patch of sand, and on either side parents monitored swimming children. Mulder directed them to the right, waving at excited grade-schoolers as they marveled at his raft. Iden mimicked him, waving like a princess as she perched on the edge. Frankie also did her share of entertaining, begging kisses from the toddlers in the sand and provoking giggles from one of Scully's work friends, who was lounging in the sun with her husband.

Mulder called the dog off with a whistle. "Sorry Nancy!" He grabbed Frankie by the collar when she swam up to the raft, dumping her inside. "She thinks everyone loves her!"

Nancy waved at him, shielding her eyes from the sun. Frankie whimpered, walking along the edge of the raft. She puffed out her chest, perked her ears, and kept watch for them, making sure no intruders dared attempt to enter her temporary home. Iden rolled around in the floor, trying to provoke the dog to play with her, and when her attempts failed she leaned over the water.

When the populated shores passed them by, Iden came to sit with him. She petted Frankie absently, twisting her lips around. "Hey, Fox, can I ask you something?"

He was leery of her suddenly serious expression. He hated to imagine what dark things could go on in her mind. She had lost her mother three years ago to suicide, and she had been the one to come home from first grade and find the body. Since then she had lived with her potentially insane sister, who meant well, but whose parenting skills were severely lacking. Mulder was allowed to forget these things when she was smiling, but when her smiles faded, the darkness reemerged.

He flicked a leaf out of her hair. "Sure. What's up?"

"Do you think I'm really psychic?"

He had asked himself that question many times since meeting this girl and her sister. Deloris claimed to be psychic, a reader of omens and a diviner of the weather, but she laid an even more dazzling claim on her sister. She told Mulder that Iden dreamt of the future in perfect clarity. She knew situations and events that were going to happen, and she had never been wrong.

He was uncertain about his own belief in the ability, having encountered several dozen frauds in his new town alone, but Iden was a special case.

"Do you think you're a psychic?" he asked.

She looked away, taking one more bite of her ice cream and giving the rest to the dog. She wiped her mouth on her shirt – a habit she had, unfortunately, picked up from Mulder – and shifted around, leaning heavily into his shoulder. "I see stuff sometimes. Deloris says I see the future. She says the things I dream about really happen somewhere."

"What kind of stuff do you see?"

Her frown deepened. "I had a dream that momma would die, and then she did. She died just like in my dream. Deloris said we could have saved her."

He took a breath. Leave it to that eccentric woman to blame a nine-year-old for something she couldn't have possibly prevented. "Sometimes things happen," he said, hoping to ease the guilt in her eyes. "Sometimes we can't do anything to stop them."

"But I saw what was going to happen," Iden murmured.

He felt a strange sense of comradery with this little girl. Their lives, from very early on, had been marred by the supernatural, and they would never experience the blissful ignorance of the kids they had passed on the shore. He wasn't sure Iden could understand what she was missing at this age, but he knew she would feel it one day. It would sit like a sour spot in her throat.

"I lost my sister when I was a kid," he said. "I had the chance to save her, but I froze up. I was so scared that I let it happen. I blamed myself for that for a long time, but I realized later that I was just a kid. I couldn't have done anything to help her. Some things are just… destiny."

"Deloris says that a lot."

He swallowed the lump of doubt he had for Deloris and nodded. "She's a pretty smart lady." He reached down and splashed Iden, getting the dog on the backstroke. "And you're a pretty wet kid."

"Hey!" she shouted, jumping away from him. She grinned, grabbing Frankie and hiding behind her. She changed her mind after a moment, diving into the corner and sweeping some water toward him. Her little hand barely made a splash, but she still managed to hit him.

He got drawn into a splash war, and he didn't see a boulder approaching beneath them. The whole raft lurched and he heard an ominous hissing sound.

Iden jumped back to his side, grabbing his arm. "What was that?"

Mulder felt along the bottom of the raft, groaning when water started seeping around his hand. "I think we're sinking." He grabbed his walking stick and reached down for the bottom of the river, dismayed to find his arm wasn't long enough. He tried to use it as a paddle with little success. He could see the rapids starting up ahead, distant white caps running over rocks.

He sat on the edge, grabbing Frankie and dropping her in the water. She swam to the shore and shook herself, whimpering at him.

"Abandon ship," he declared, grabbing Iden and dragging her to the edge with him. He pulled her hand over his shoulder. "Hold onto my neck."

He slid into the water with her, swimming in a diagonal line to the shore. He let Iden climb up first, giving her a hard shove to get her up the slippery clay, and then he dragged himself up after her. He sat up in the sand, watching his raft take the rapids and go on down the river. It would be full of water soon enough. He was grateful he hadn't told Scully about it.

Iden washed the sand off of her knees, laughing as she watched Frankie pursue every bird within twenty feet of them. When Mulder stood up, she scrambled toward him so fast that she almost fell back into the water.

"Okay, me hearty," Mulder said, turning Iden toward a steep incline. "We be walking back home, and we not be mentioning this to Scully unless we be wanting Fox to meet an early grave."

"Aye aye," Iden responded, dutifully saluting him.

It was a pleasant walk that was made awkward by their wet clothes. When they reached the miniature beach again, they got strange looks from everyone, and Mulder avoided making eye contact with Scully's friend. He focused instead on harassing his pint-sized companion, ruffling her hair and shoving her before running across the bridge. She chased him, yelling all kinds of PG pirate curses, and slapped him in the back when she reached him.

"Ow, ow, elder abuse," he complained, dodging another smack. He tipped her head to the side, jumping back before she could react. "You hit like a bologna sandwich."

"You look like a bologna sandwich," she countered.

Halfway back to the house, it occurred to Mulder that his phone was still in his pocket. He took it out, watching with dismay as water drained from the keyboard.

"You need a new phone," Iden stated, smiling a little.

He flicked the battery at her, getting her in the thigh. "Very keen observation there, little lady. Hey, whoa, watch that. Could be corrosive."

She stuck out her tongue, giving Frankie another scratch between the ears and then running at him. She hook both of her arms around one of his. "Carry me back!"

"Do I look like a taxi to you?"

" _Fox_ ," she whined, sinking down to her knees. She clawed at the ground. "I think my legs may be broken. I see the light! I can see my life flashing before my eyes!"

"All five minutes of it," Mulder grumbled. "Hop on."

When he arrived at the house with a soaking wet nine-year-old clinging to his back and a stumpy cattle dog dragging its feet behind him, he was horrified to find the SUV in the driveway. Scully was already starting toward them, looking at him incredulously.

"Mulder, what the hell have you been doing?"

He let the little girl slip down his back. "I bought a raft. Did I ever mention that? Iden and I went for a little ride." Iden wrapped her arms around Scully, smiling up at her. Mulder did his best to look anywhere but her face. "We sprung a tiny leak."

"We were sinking!" Iden said, glancing back at Mulder. She was oblivious to his cease-and-desist expression. "We had to abandon ship and walk home!"

Scully swept the girl's hair back with both hands. "That sounds really exciting."

"Are you on break?" Iden demanded.

Scully glared at Mulder for another split second. "Yeah, honey, I came home to get some lunch. Little did I know what I would find."

"Is Fox in trouble?"

Scully tilted her head, shrugging, and led Iden into the house. "How about we get you a quick bath? You're all muddy. You'll get a rash if you keep those wet clothes on much longer."

She shot one last scowl at Mulder as she escorted the girl into the house. Mulder followed them, changing into a fresh pair of clothes before doing his best impression of a starfish on the couch. He rubbed Frankie down with a towel before allowing her to settle between his legs. She rested her head on his thigh, sighing, and stared absently at the television.

When the girls returned, Iden was dressed in a set of princess pajamas she had left by mistake last week. He could hear the washing machine running in the other room, coaxing the mud and clay out of her jean shorts. She sat on his chest, giggling when Frankie jumped up to greet her.

Scully leaned over his shoulder suddenly, very close to his ear. "Don't burn the house down. I'll be home in a few hours. Channel the responsible adult inside."

"Responsible… what now?"

She slapped one cheek and kissed the other. "Shut up, Mulder."

He spent the rest of the afternoon with Iden, happily taking a break from his research. He hosted a showing of several kids' movies, helped her construct the best blanket fort in the history of the world, and then cut off all the lights and told her the story of one of their past cases, entertaining a question and answer session afterwards. Iden was a bright, curious kid, taking on the strangest mysteries with the most whimsical explanations. It was one of the reasons they connected so well – they thought alike. Iden was just as wild as he was.

Scully came home with Chinse food, obviously delighted when she saw that Iden was still there. She went on a full tour of the blanket fort while Mulder set out the food.

He heard his email ding in the other room, but he managed to ignore it. Scully and Iden joined him, but somehow his mind had managed to wander back into the cave while they were in the other room. He thought again of the people who had gone missing, how devastated their families must be, and it brought his mood down. Scully noticed as soon as he took his seat, but she said nothing. She distracted Iden with the ritual opening of the fortune cookies.

Over an hour later, headlights flashed out front and the Frankie alarm went off again. Scully took Iden to the door, handed her a neat pile of her formerly drenched and muddied clothes, and watched her walk out to her sister's car. Mulder hung back, still munching on the last fortune cookie.

"She needs more stability," Scully commented as she shut the door. She brushed past Mulder, beginning to clean up the table. "Deloris throws that girl around like she's a pet."

"She seems happy enough," Mulder said.

"For now, I suppose."

Mulder shrugged, unfolding his third fortune for the night. He cocked an eyebrow. "You will fall into bed with a beautiful woman."

Scully laughed. "Right."

"Hey, I just obey the signs," Mulder said, sneaking up behind her and wrapping his arms around her stomach. He pressed a kiss to her cheek, sliding her hair back to kiss her neck. She squirmed, still trying to scrape the plate into the trash. "We can't deny our fate, Scully. We have to embrace the signs as they are revealed to us."

She set her plate on the counter, leaning quietly into his arms and shutting her eyes. For a moment he thought she was thinking the same thing he was, but her expression became sad. She ran her hand over his. "You know, she's right around William's age."

He swallowed. Mentions of his son gave him a painful sense of grief. He had never really gotten over that loss – the loss that happened in his absence. He had held William all of one time. He could not even drum up a memory of his face. It stung his heart.

"Yeah," he responded, his voice a little thick.

"You would have been a good dad," she went on, twisting in his arms. She kissed him lightly on the lips, pressing her forehead to his. "Iden loves you."

"You would have been a good mom," he countered. "Iden thinks you run this relationship."

She smirked. "Well, she's not wrong."

When the dishes were done and the house was mostly settled, Mulder returned to the couch. Scully joined him, relaxing into his side for a while before sinking down to put her head in his lap. She held one of his hands, running her fingers over his wrist. He stared at the TV, aware of what he was seeing, but not really watching it. He wasn't particularly interested in penguin migration right now. He was trying to remember what his son looked like.

"I'm sorry I brought it up," Scully murmured, twisting around so she was on her back. She kissed his palm, her eyes glittering in the light of the television.

He smiled down at her, but the expression left him as he spoke. "Can you… remind me? What did he look like? I saw him once before… before he was gone."

She took a deep, settling breath. "He was beautiful. He hardly had any hair – it would have been blonde, or light brown, I think – and his eyes were the prettiest shade of blue. He reminded me of you so much, mostly because he woke up in the middle of the night, every night, and cried until I gave him what he wanted."

Mulder grinned. He raked his fingers through her hair, getting it out of her face. He loved the way she looked in this light, the way she looked when she was remembering something pleasantly, instead of painfully. It reminded him of the dozens of cases they had worked in the moonlight. It gave him a peaceful longing for the past.

She glanced at the clock. "When do you have to leave?"

"Soon, but not too soon."

"Is that why you're always late?"

He laughed. "You caught me."

"I wish you wouldn't go," she whispered, staring into his eyes for a moment. She had heavy thoughts dragging her mind down. He could read it on her face. She was reluctant to say what she was thinking about because the few times that they had breached this topic had led to fights. He shared her hesitation, though he wished things were different.

He drew in a deep breath, tilting his head back to view the ceiling. It was much easier to speak to her, to tell her something she didn't want to hear, if he couldn't see her eyes.

"I have to go, Scully."

He wanted to ask her if she would still be here when he returned. Their last case had brought that question to light. Scully had threatened to leave him for his devotion to the supernatural. She had been serious, too. It was all over her face. He could remember that expression – the expression he loathed the most – more than he could remember the moment they had reconciled. It was the bad things, the looming threats, that clung to him.

Losing her was the worst thing he could imagine, but his passion called him away. He wanted to find those people, to solve this mystery, and to go on to solve the next one.

When he looked down at her again, he found a familiar blankness in her eyes. It was always there when she withheld her feelings. "I hope you find what you're looking for."

 _Ouch_.

He tried to come up with something to say as she rolled off of the couch, kissed his forehead, and retreated to the bedroom. He came up with nothing. He could have gone after her and swept her off her feet, promising that he would drop the case, swearing that he would forget about the caves and the disappearances. He could have saved the situation before it ate away at their fragile new life. He could have done a lot of things to comfort her, but he grabbed his bag instead. He lingered against the bedroom door, listening to her moving around on the bed, and then he left.


	3. Something New

**Something New.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 17, 2010.**

Gene Foster was a peculiar man. He craned his neck to see over the steering wheel of a dark blue, windowless van. He wore a lab coat with navy shorts and a tank top underneath. He reminded Mulder of himself, youthful and unguarded in the way he spoke. He gave every word a mystical purpose. He even looked similar to Mulder, with his spiky brown hair and kind brown eyes. His behavior made his age impossible to guess, but the fuzzy dice hanging from the rearview mirror gave Mulder the impression that he was a child of the sixties as well.

Mulder hopped into the passenger's seat of the van, glancing around at the piles of books that littered every corner. He was surprised the vehicle wasn't sitting lower.

It started raining before they left the airport. Mulder squinted at the wall of water pouring over the windshield. Despite it, the van was stuffy and humid. Mulder was uncomfortable at first, squeaking as he shifted around on the plastic chair cover, but as the drive went on he let himself become curious, surveying the contents of the broken glove compartment that rested on his knees. He even toyed with one of the buttons on his flannel shirt, irritated with himself for wearing something so warm. For some reason he had thought Kentucky would be chilly.

Gene took interest in conversation when they made it to a quieter part of the city. He turned down a few side roads, putting on a decent amount of speed but still tensing up whenever a shadow swept over their path. "I'm glad for your interest in this. The ranger who disappeared was a friend of mine. We bowled together sometimes. He was a good guy."

"So, you think an animal is responsible for this?" Mulder wondered. His emails had alluded to something more paranormal, but Mulder could see the piles of research strewn across the backseat. Rather than folklore and legends, it was all biological. Strictly normal information.

Gene sat a little straighter. "Uh, yes, that's right. I don't have a name for you, but whatever is killing these people is a long-term resident of the Mammoth Cave System."

"Killing? No bodies have been recovered."

"I'm sure they won't be recovered."

"So you believe an alligator is attacking these people?"

Gene glanced back, a mischievous light in his eyes. "Oh? Why do you say that?"

"I looked you up on the plane. You wrote your thesis on the hunting methodology of the American alligator – I'm interested to know why you're in _Kentucky_ studying alligators."

"Very observant, Mr. Mulder," Gene said, smiling a little. "I guess you looked up the local alligator population and found out that it didn't exist."

"Explain that to me."

"I came here a little over a year ago to research the inhabitants of the cave system. I thought maybe a few of the native gators could have survived in such a damp underground environment, but when the disappearances started I began to suspect differently. Alligators are excellent hunters, powerful, patient, and fearsome, but they're only silent until they leave the water. It occurred to me that whatever is attacking these people is something… else."

"What do you mean? Another water predator?"

"I spent a few hours inside the caves recently, mapping the terrain, getting a census of the local wildlife, and I realized that there is something unseen sitting at the top of the food chain, and it's not something we're familiar with."

"How can you-?"

"I walked through the tunnels," Gene interrupted her, his voice becoming low and eerie. "I walked, and I listened to the water running, and recorded the sounds of frogs and insects echoing from all over, and then everything went silent."

Mulder sat up a little. His neck tingled. "Total silence?"

Gene nodded. "I was in the lower chambers when it happened. I could hear a rumbling up above, like something absolutely _massive_ was moving overhead. I ran up, tried to climb a few levels to see what was making the sound, but the tunnels were empty."

"The witnesses reported hearing a low rumbling sound several minutes after the victim went missing. It always happens the same way. They hear the rumbling, and then they hear someone screaming, and then everything goes silent."

"I heard that, too," Gene said. "I knew it couldn't be a coincidence. Whatever it was that has been stalking these caves for hundreds, maybe thousands of years has finally stepped up its appetite."

"If something so massive really existed in those caves someone would have seen it by now," Mulder pointed out, playing both the believer and the sceptic to fill the empty seat in the car. She would have been proud of him for that.

"Maybe. Maybe not."

"Have you looked into the local legends?" Mulder wondered.

Gene nodded, leaning over the steering wheel again to try and see through the wall of rain. It was getting louder, so he had to shout so Mulder could hear him. "I did some research, but I couldn't find anything to explain the disappearances."

Mulder pulled his tablet from his damp backpack. He powered it up and glanced over the webpage he had been reading on the plane. It was heavily decorated with leaves and arrowheads, with several paragraphs of text written in a spooky font.

"Is that about the caves? Read it." Gene urged.

Mulder smiled. "Some would say it sounds a little out there, but I think these local stories have some credibility. This is the documentation from the Native American side, passed down through the generations as oral history. In the seventies an anthropologist took interest in some kind of religious ceremony. I found another record when I searched for historical documents pertaining to this area. In 1650 a group of French explorers set out to classify the local tribes. Francois Rousseau was the expedition leader, and his son Bastien was the medic – or the cook, I'm not good with French. Anyway, the French recorded that Rousseau died after taking ill in the early spring, but according to the journals written by his son, they were investigating a vast cave system when Rousseau became severely disturbed and eventually died of fright. I haven't been through the whole journal yet, but there are some pretty obvious discrepancies between it and the official story."

"How do you know these sources are credible?"

"He kept a record so the truth wouldn't be buried. He spent pages detailing the creatures he encountered. I have the translation in my bookmarks. I'm not done with it yet, but from what I've read so far, the explorers may have something much more dangerous than an ancient animal. I think they incurred the wrath of a poltergeist."

Gene gave him a doubtful, 'you just lost me' kind of look. "I have never found empirical evidence of ghosts, Mr. Mulder. Ancient animals, on the other hand, are very real."

"What kind of animal could do such a thing? You said it yourself. It was absolutely silent, bigger than anything we know of. It didn't leave signs of a struggle and no one saw it." He smirked, realizing he wasn't getting anywhere with his logic. "Either way, we'll get to the truth. We both know that the press story was full of crap."

"Yes, twenty people including a trained park ranger making a wrong turn in the same part of the cave system. And, to top it off, they all vanished without a trace."

Mulder nodded.

"But it wasn't a ghost."

He smiled, catching a competitive jab in those words. "Oh yeah?"

"Yes."

"Consider it, though, just for a moment. What if those screams the witnesses heard were actually the final words of souls being dragged into the Underworld? What if that thudding sound was a portal closing – or opening – between our world and the next? I've read accounts of people in caves experiencing an intense sense of malice and fear in the hours leading up to their deaths, almost like something was hunting them, even when they were above ground again. You can't tell me that doesn't fascinate you."

Gene took a moment to look at him, for once diverting his attention from the road. He still seemed doubtful and amused, but there was a sense of wonder hidden away in his expression. "You have a remarkable mind, Mr. Mulder."

Mulder smiled, not sure how to respond to that.

"But you're still dead wrong."

His smile turned into a smirk. "I guess we'll find out soon enough."

Gene lived in an appropriately spooky house. Despite the rain pouring down on him, Mulder lingered on the sidewalk for a few precious seconds to take in the two-story masterpiece of Civil War Era architecture. It was a piece of art. It reminded him of his own home in Virginia, and he wondered if they had been constructed around the same time. He wasn't standing there for more than a minute when Gene beckoned him from the porch. He was frowning at him.

He walked across the grass, water soaking through his shoes, and jumped up the front steps, waiting while Gene struggled with the lock. When the door finally opened it jerked forward, slamming against the interior wall, and they both jumped. He followed Gene inside, stopping on the mat to kick off his soaked shoes. He dragged his suitcase in and set it on the carpet, sliding out of the way as Gene shut the door.

"Is there someplace I can change?" Mulder wondered of the scientist, glancing around.

Gene motioned to the narrow, carpeted staircase that led almost vertically to an old wooden door. There was very little room to walk, but he had managed to stack boxes, files, and computer equipment on the edges. "Your room is up there. Make yourselves at home. If you get hungry, there's food in the kitchen, but we'll pick up some breakfast before we leave tomorrow."

Mulder trudged up the stairs, hauling the suitcase along with him. It was a modest bedroom, dominated by a king-sized bed and a psychedelic carpet. Somehow it manage to be warm and cozy, despite the raging storm outside.

"Home sweet home," he murmured to himself. He shut the door, set his suitcase beside the dresser, and lost his clothing on the way to the bed. He got sidetracked by the heating vent, realizing for the first time that he was cold. When he finally made it to the mattress he sunk in like it was made of feathers, the coiled muscles in his back loosening. He let his eyes drift shut. "Oh, this bed… I need this bed…"

He laid there for a little while, fantasizing about sleeping, but he couldn't get his departure off of his mind. He kept remembering the last words Scully had said to him, and he needed to hear her voice saying something sweeter. He stole the home phone from the kitchen counter and went back upstairs, laying across the bed like a teenage girl talking to her crush.

Scully picked up midway through the second ring. "Mulder?"

He was pleased with the worry in her voice. "Everything's fine," he responded. "I just wanted to say goodnight."

"Is that really why you called?"

He sighed. "Why do I have to have an ulterior motive?"

"Because you're _you_." She was quiet for a moment. He heard her say something softly, and the dog whined in the background. "By the way, your half of the bed is still warm. I won't say who is sleeping there, but it's scandalous, I promise."

He smiled, glad that she didn't seem angry with him. "You done me wrong, Scully."

She laughed, but it died away. "Do you really think this is something supernatural, Mulder?"

"I think people are missing, and something is taking them. This can't be a series of accidents."

"I suppose the odds would be… astronomical."

He let his eyes shut again, imagining himself lying in bed with her. She was so easy to talk to. Sometimes they say the sun rising, and realized that they had been talking through the night, completely oblivious to the rest of the world. "You said once that you really thought about dying – _really_ thought about it. You described how you felt about it, but you never said what you… expected to find when it ended."

"Something kind, I would hope."

"Like a meadow?"

"Like peace… like the family I had lost…"

"This case… I was interested in it because of all the lore surrounding caves and caverns. The interior is the second least understood part of our world."

"What is the least understood part, then?"

"Oceans."

She hummed deep in her chest.

"Anyway, when I think of death, of dying, I can't zero in on what might happen. I mean, the concept of the Underworld has been a part of human mythology since the beginning. Stories of gods fighting titans and assigning the land amongst themselves, stories of Hades and the black depths where souls can never escape. You were raised to call it Hell, to picture a tangible series of chambers with hellfire and brimstone, but others think of it in more abstract ways."

He paused, glancing at the pale outline of the window. Every now and then lightning lit the world outside, and he could see the limbs of a tree reaching out for him.

"Buddhists see afterlife as only pleasant, or, rather, separated from suffering altogether. Samsara, the continuation of unenlightened life, is the only alternative. Egyptian beliefs were centered on the total apartness one experienced when they died, to know everything that is to be known, to see the future, the past, and the present in unison. Even the Hebrews started off with the notion that when people died they become lesser beings, like wraiths, and haunted the living."

"Are you still talking about the caves?"

"I was reading this journal… I think the author – someone who explored these caves – encountered a real poltergeist. I've encountered ghosts, but the way that he described it…"

He heard the bed shift, as if Scully was sitting up. "Are you afraid, Mulder?"

He hadn't expected that question. He stumbled over it. "He has a way with words. Conveying terror is something that most people find… terrifying."

"Is he better than Stephen King?"

He smiled, trying to squash the unease in his skin. "Not even close. Look, I've got to go. I'll call you before we enter the caves, okay?"

"If you don't, I'll send Deloris after you."

"Got it. Goodnight, Scully. I love you."

"I love you, too."

Mulder followed the sound of typing through the house until he located Gene. He was in a tiny corner office, not unlike the one Mulder had at home, and he was typing rapidly into his computer. He noticed Mulder standing in the doorway and urged him inside, continuing his typing for a few more minutes. Mulder wandered around, studying the paper-plastered walls.

Gene was fascinated with ecology and evolution. Papers detailing the evolutionary lines of dozens of creatures were accompanied by complicated food chain diagrams, soil and water content charts, and percentage-based formulas designed to assess animal populations. Mulder admired his dedication, and marveled at the organization of the room. Anyone else would have assumed this man was insane, posting his ravings all over the place, but Mulder saw the pattern almost immediately. Creatures, beginning with the simplest and moving to the most complicated, moved out in a spiral pattern from the far corner of the room. It was like a train of thought – a train of millions of years of life summarized in one small room.

"Mr. Mulder," the scientist said, finally turning from his computer. He had shut the screen off. He smiled with all the warmth of an old friend. "May I call you Fox? I love that name."

Mulder grimaced, shrugging. "I guess."

Gene smiled, motioning to an old trunk resting beneath an open window. "Have a seat. I guess it's hard to sleep with all the thunder."

"That's not the problem. I actually like storms." Mulder went to sit on the trunk, looking out the window and frowning when he found a small dog mulling about in the rain. It looked miserable. His train of thought stuttered a little. "Um, I thought we could talk."

"Of course." He fished through his papers, presenting Mulder with a snippet of a newspaper article. It was a picture of him from nearly fourteen years ago. He smiled reflexively at the irritated look his partner was wearing. "Betty sent these over. She thought you might like to keep them."

Mulder nodded, taking the clippings delicately in one hand. He sat back against the window, leafing through the pictures. "In your emails you said that this expedition might take several days. Is that true?"

"Four hundred miles is a lot of territory to cover."

"And what about this _creature_ … what kind of animal do you think it is?" Mulder found himself looking around again, pulling information from the walls. "I mean, obviously it's not an alligator. What else could make a home down there? Is it mammalian or reptilian?"

"Or something else entirely," Gene said, his voice lowering an octave. "Have you ever read the accounts of the basilisk?"

Mulder perked up immediately. "The king of the snakes. Supposedly a little guy with a crown shape on his head – unless you're in a movie theater."

"What if a true king of snakes did exist? Those caverns would be the perfect home."

"But isn't it too cold for reptiles?"

"Therein lies the mystery."

He stood, flattened his lab coat against his body, and then went for the door. "Go through anything of mine if you want. I have some records of other species in the caves and a few Twinkies hidden in those drawers."

"You hitting the hay?"

"No, no, I'm going to get that dog and bring it in, then I'll sleep, I think. Goodnight."

"Goodnight."

Mulder stayed where he was for a little while, smiling as he watched the other man unhook the dog and walk it back into the house. Its tail wagged all the way across the yard. He walked around the office, lingering on some interesting creatures that Gene had investigated. Evidently the biologist was starting in on the twisted world of cryptozoology, beginning with the infamous, elusive terror bird, whose wingspan was reported to be longer than a city bus.

He was interested in the research, but his eyes were starting to drag down. He ended up in a small living room near the back of the house, tablet in hand. This room had no windows, making it the perfect retreat from the storm.

He was not exaggerating when he said Bastien Rousseau had a way with words. His phrasing, his descriptions, and his own fears haunted Mulder, but he could not stop reading. It was fascinating, and horrifying, in every sense of the word. Rousseau described a hooded figure pursuing them through the woods, some kind of specter, and his fear was alive in every page.

He thought about the diviner who had stood on his porch that morning, about her dark warning. Perhaps she really was psychic, but rather than drowning in the water, or knitwear, he was going to drown in fear, as the explorers had. Perhaps what had pursued the Frenchmen was still out there, dragging people down into the depths.

Perhaps they would encounter it, and his questions about the afterlife would be answered.


	4. Power

**Power.**

 **Wayfield, Virginia.**

 **May 17, 2010.**

It was the middle of the night when bright headlights illuminated her entire room. Frankie rolled off the bed and shot off like a bottle rocket, barking all the way to the door. Scully squinted, coming clumsily into consciousness, and stumbled to her feet. She went to the hall closet, ripped open the drawer, and pulled her gun from its hiding place, flinching back when tires squealed outside. She heard a slamming noise and Frankie skittered across the front porch.

She came out with her weapon raised, staring at a pair of headlights bobbing rapidly away. Frankie ran down into the yard, circling the skinny, trembling girl who stood in the driveway.

"Iden?" Scully lowered her gun, mystified by what she was seeing. Was she dreaming? She walked down the front steps, glancing around, and then following the glow of taillights through the wooded path to the highway. "Iden, did Deloris just drop you off? Where is she going?" Her eyes began to adjust and she saw how pale the girl looked. "Come inside, sweetheart."

Scully led her into the house, sitting down with her on the couch. Iden melted into her arms, sobbing quietly. Her skin was clammy. Her hair was disorderly, like she, too, had suddenly been awakened. She was starting to hyperventilate.

"Deep breaths," Scully whispered, grabbing the blanket from the back of the couch and wrapping it around the girl's shoulders. She seemed to be in shock.

Iden took a few deep breaths, her lip trembling, and then she started sobbing again. She buried her face in Scully's shoulder. Frankie started pacing, whining, just as unsure about the situation as Scully was. She ran her hand up and down Iden's heaving back.

"Just calm down for me, okay?" Scully started checking the girl for injuries, only finding a slightly reddened spot on her cheek. It looked like she had been slapped. "Did she hit you? Did Deloris hit you?" When Iden nodded, Scully pressed the back of her palm to the girl's cheek, feeling the warmth still rolling off of it. "Why would she do that?"

Iden stared at her, her glassy eyes bleeding innocence. She laid her head on Scully's shoulder, remaining that way for a solid hour before she spoke again.

"She said I can't live with her."

Scully was stricken by those words. "Why not?"

"She said I… I… I'm not really psychic."

"Why would she say that?"

"I… I told her… I said…"

Scully reached between them, taking the girl's trembling hands. "You can tell me. Just talk to me so I can help you. Why did she say that to you?"

"I had a dream about her… I saw her die."

Scully felt a chill in the back of her neck. She was not sold on the idea of psychic powers – or any types of powers, for that matter – but hearing those words from a child was disturbing. Mulder had stated that the most powerful psychic powers in the world rested with children.

"So she… she left you here?" Scully glanced up, as if expecting Deloris to come through the door at any moment. "That's not okay, Iden. She can't just… leave you here."

"I can go if you want," Iden said, staring downward.

Scully tipped her face up, shaking her head. "No, no. I want you to stay here with me tonight. We'll figure this out in the morning, okay?"

"O-O-Okay."

She tucked Iden into the guest bedroom, with Frankie lying diligently by her side, and went back into her room. She wanted Mulder there with her to deal with this, and at the same time, she knew that calling him would be a mistake. Mulder would rush home, abandoning his passion to help her. He would resent her for ruining this for him, and he would do it in secret. It would widen the wedge that had formed between them. She would do anything to keep that from happening, even if that involved dealing with Deloris by herself.

She lay awake for the longest time, staring into the ceiling as the night dragged past her. Iden awakened and cried for a short time, but she was already sleeping when Scully went to check on her. She had her back to the door, her little body curled up in a ball. Frankie was sitting up beside her, as if guarding her.

Scully finally tried to sleep around three in the morning. Her thoughts about this sudden situation drove her to some strange dreams. She often had nightmares about her days in the FBI, but tonight was different. Tonight was completely different.

She dreamt of Mulder, with the words she had said to him as he left for the airport bouncing around in her mind. _I hope you find what you're looking for_. Her lover was walking alone through a shady patch of woods. Everything was surreal and beautiful, like an exotic postcard, but his eyes were on the ground. He seemed to be thinking. Every now and then he stopped, glancing about himself, and then changed directions, walking like he knew exactly where he was going.

It was almost a personification of her longing for him, but something changed all of the sudden. He stopped, staring around with wide eyes. She could feel his fear growing. She felt something coming for him – something she could not see, something she could not warn him about.

He started running. His path through the trees was unobstructed but he seemed to be running at half speed. He was shouting something she couldn't understand.

When he came to a depression in the earth, he tripped over the edge and rolled into it. He scrambled to his knees, looking around rapidly, panic emerging on his face. She tried to form words, to get him to keep running, but she could not save him.

Her nightmare ended with a metallic thud.

She sat up in bed, falling halfway back down when she realized she was in her own bedroom. Iden was standing in her doorway – it was the soft sound of the knob turning that had awakened her. For the first few seconds her dream was so vivid that she couldn't catch her breath, and then it started fading, slipping away from her like shifting sand.

"Can I sleep with you?" Iden asked from the door.

Scully stared at her, only half conscious. "What?"

"I had a nightmare," Iden said, coming up to the side of the bed. Her face was wet again. "Can me and Frankie sleep with you?"

Scully took a deep breath and flopped back into her pillow. "Yeah. Sure. Hop in."

"Did you have a nightmare too?" Iden wondered, climbing into Mulder's side of the bed and snuggling down into his pillows. Frankie hopped up and laid by her side, her eyes darting between them both.

Was it a nightmare? Scully scratched her head. She was having trouble recalling why she was so panicked. It was something to do with Mulder. Perhaps she was still thinking about him getting hurt in those caves. "I'm not sure," she admitted to the kid. Her eyes were barely open, weighed down by lack of sleep. "I don't remember."

"Do you want to hear about mine?"

Scully nodded, yawning.

"I was flying with some birds, and they started pecking my wings. And then there were zombies everywhere trying to hitchhike so they could get me. And then that guy that you guys locked up, that one that could squeeze into small spaces, he was chasing Fox."

Scully blinked, smiling slightly. "Remind Mulder that his ghost stories are too scary for you."

"That wasn't even the worst part," Iden said. Her voice became low and she leaned in. "Promise you won't tell anybody about it, though."

"I promise."

"I saw that lady from the supermarket, the one who waters the vegetables – I saw somebody hitting her really hard."

Scully sat up on her elbow. "You mean Katie? The teenager?"

"Yeah." Iden looked away, her eyes growing sad again. "I get scared when I see stuff like that. I think… I think she might die soon."

Scully stared at her. "You think… you think somebody hurt Katie?"

"I think they're going to. It was tomorrow."

She was conflicted. It was easy to discount psychic visions when they were about people's love lives and personality types, but Iden was talking about murder. Someone was going to die. Or were they? Was Iden just projecting her own trauma onto the teenager?

It was impossible to know.

"Go to sleep now, Iden. We can talk about it in the morning."

"But what if someone kills Katie?" Her voice came out as a whimper, barely heard above the soft snoring of the dog. Scully could already see tears forming in her eyes.

She sighed. "We can go see Katie in the morning and make sure that nobody wants to hurt her, okay? Does that sound good to you?"

Iden nodded, cautious. "What if somebody does?"

"Then I'll stop them."

"What if you can't?"

"I will," Scully insisted, pulling the covers up onto the girl's shoulders. "Get some sleep so you can be ready tomorrow. We have a big day ahead of us."

Her first stop would be at Deloris' house, and her second would be at the supermarket. She was still painfully skeptical about Iden's supposed abilities, but the girl's fear was genuine. She was a smart kid. If she saw some sketchy behavior, she might have made up the vision in order to tell Scully about it. Or she could have seen her being beaten to death in her dreams.

Either way, Scully could not let it go. She had to know for sure.

 _I wish you were here, Mulder_ , she thought. He would have been all over this. It would have been nice to have him there to back her up in both instances.

She slept for a short time – or she imagined that she slept – before she heard something thudding outside. She sat up, struggling to come out of her dreams again, and Iden whimpered beside her. Frankie started growling and shot out of the room.

"Stay here," Scully ordered the child, slipping from the bed and going to the door. Frankie whimpered in the darkness and skittered past her, hollering like she'd been bitten by something.

Scully's heart raced. The front door was swinging open and closed. The curtain had already come undone and was whipping around madly. The blinds were crumpled on the floor. There was nothing outside to cause this, no sudden gusts of wind or transients messing with the hinges.

Iden appeared by her side, holding her by the waist. She yelled over the sound of the banging. "What's happening?"

"Get back to the bed!" Scully shouted, pushing her back into the bedroom. As soon as Iden was on the bed, the door shut behind her. Scully grabbed the knob, but she was unable to twist it. "Hey! Let me in! Iden, unlock the door!"

She heard the little girl panicking on the other side. "I can't! It's stuck! Dana!"

"Hold on!" Scully said, ramming her shoulder into the door over and over again. It wouldn't budge. It was like it was cemented in place. She ran for the drawer in the hall, but she was quickly deterred by the couch, which was bouncing around the corner. She retreated to the door, now trying to get in for two reasons. "Try to pull it open! Hurry up!"

When the door finally opened, Scully dashed inside and slammed it shut again. She went to the window, trying to wrench it open. It resisted her.

"Dana, I'm scared!" Iden screamed from the bed.

Just as those words left her mouth, the bed began to tremble. Iden squealed and jumped for it, running into Scully's arms. Scully tucked her into the corner, staring incredulously as the bed began to wiggle toward them. Everything was coming toward them. Frankie was wailing in the opposite corner. Scully had all kinds of furniture hopping in her direction.

Iden screamed again and the objects sped up.

Something occurred to Scully. She turned on the girl, pulling her into a strong hug. "It's okay. I need you to calm down. I need you to listen to my voice."

"I can't!"

"Iden, you have to listen to me. I'm going to keep you safe. I'm right here. I'm not going to let anything hurt you. Nothing is going to hurt you."

The momentum of the furniture slowed, and Iden sobbed into her stomach. Her heart was beating off the charts. Scully glanced behind her, running her hand up and down the child's back, watching with amazement as the creeping objects stopped completely. It was over. Even the front door stopped slamming.

Iden looked around her, clinging to her. "What was that?"

Scully did not want to say her theory out loud. She was already terrified enough. She hauled the girl up into her arms and took her to the bed – which was now about two feet away. Scully let Iden lay with her head on her chest, stroking her hair back. Both of them managed to slow their breathing over the next few minutes.

"Did you have another nightmare?" Scully asked delicately.

Iden shrugged into her breast.

"It's important. Did you have a nightmare?"

"Yeah."

"What was it about?"

"It was the same one."

"I told you not to be afraid about that. Katie is fine tonight, remember? And I'm going to go protect her tomorrow. No one is going to hit her."

"You promise?"

"I promise." Scully leaned over her, kissing the top of her head. Iden was trembling, but she seemed to be coming down from the terror of this ordeal. "You can go to sleep now, princess. I'm going to take care of everything. I'm going to make sure everything works out."

She stayed awake after that, unable to coax herself into sleep. She had been right when she had calmed the girl earlier. Her emotions were triggering the chaos. But why, and how, had this happened? Mulder had never mentioned this kind of event before. Perhaps it was time to call him, after all. He would have more insight into whatever this little girl was.

She dialed his number, letting it ring for a moment before she recalled that his cellphone was full of water. She redialed the number he had called her from earlier, listening to the eerie ringing for several minutes until she got an answering machine.

She hung up, discouraged.

"Where are you, Mulder?" she whispered to herself, looking down at the girl clinging to her chest. She knew it was only a matter of time before this got out of hand.

And now that she knew the power resting within this child was real and tangible, she could see more truth in her visions. Perhaps she was really seeing Katie from the supermarket being killed. Perhaps she really possessed the ability to look into the future.

In that case, her day became much, much busier.


	5. Distracted

**Distracted.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 18, 2010.**

Mulder was running through a forest, passing old cabins and skeletal cars in the gray homogeny of a nightmare. His only sensation was a cold breeze pursuing him, nipping at his elbows, kissing the back of his neck. He could only hear the sound of something monstrous racing behind him. Every now and then the air was pierced by its eerie laughter. Every now and then he slowed just enough to feel its arms closing around him, and then it hung back, toying with him.

Finally he found a place to hide. It was a cabin, as rundown as everything else in this forest. Beyond it there was an old streambed, its shore bearing like teeth prepared to consume him if he dared to cross it. He charged through the cabin door instead, the frame crumbling away in his hand.

She was lying across the floor, the only splash of color in this desolate place. Something had gotten to her back. Blood, as unnaturally bright as red paint, rolled across the carpet and framed his shoes. She was wearing a silky white gown, now stretched, torn, and streaked with blood. Her face stared back at him, as if she had expected him to come through this door. Her eyes were wide open. Her hand clenched her old service weapon.

"Scully…" he breathed, unable to comprehend the devastation that overcame him. His monster was approaching, making the walls tremble, making the room colder, but it no longer mattered to him. He tasted sulfur mixing with blood in the air.

It was coming for him with all of its malice sharpened into a blade. He could feel it entering his back, sliding effortlessly into his spine.

And then he was awake again.

He sat straight up, flinging the dog from his chest and almost falling off of the couch. His heart raced and sweat dripped down his forehead. His body felt cold, like his brush with death had been much more than a dream. He even felt a twinge in his back, like the ghostly blade was resting there, waiting for its wielder to finish the job.

When the chill finally left him, he retrieved his tablet from the floor and sunk back into the couch, pulling up what he had been reading before he fell asleep. He rolled his eyes, partly amused and partly disturbed by the passage that was highlighted.

 _I saw my love on the floor, back slit open, her life draining away, as the beast closed in on me. Our childhood home shook, taken by its rage, and I fell to its knife. When I awakened I was overtaken by such a fear that my colleagues worried for my sanity. For hours I was taken with the notion that I had truly lost her, and that the monster had finally succeeded in its hunt._

He sat up, skimming the paragraph over and over again. It was exactly what he had dreamt of. He must have projected it into his own dreams after reading the passage. But even while he reasoned it away, he couldn't quite remember if he was reading before the highlighted sections, or after them. It was possible he hadn't even looked at this section yet. He didn't really remember reading about it. He was left with the possibilities that it was a coincidence, a case of forgetfulness, or a dark omen of what was to come. Could the cave already be messing with his head?

He flipped to the back of the journal, waiting impatiently as the translation loaded in a little side screen. It was far from perfect, but it conveyed the text clearly enough. He read it twice, just to be sure that his eyes weren't playing tricks on him.

 _I came home to find my nightmares had become my reality._

It stopped there. It was scrawled across the last page in rough handwriting, similar to the beginning, but much sloppier. He had pressed so hard while writing it that the original document showed a hole beneath the last letter. Mulder even wondered if those dark spots in the scanned document were tearstains. It could have been a series of grease spots.

He dialed her number anyway, leaning one arm heavily over the side of the couch to keep himself upright. His stomach was doing flips. He felt like he hadn't slept at all.

"Mulder?"

Hearing her voice was enough to alleviate some of his anxiety. He knew it was silly to be so afraid of a dream, but seeing her lying on the floor like that was the culmination of his greatest fears. He knew he was centuries away from the tragedy that had befallen Rousseau and his companions, and yet he felt hunted as well, like the haunting was bleeding through the page.

"Hey, sorry. Did I wake you? I was just calling to check in."

"Is everything okay? You sound… What happened?"

He cleared his throat, forcing the fear out of his voice. "Nothing. I was just seeing if everything was okay out there. I saw some rough weather headed that way."

"I'm watching the forecast right now. It looks fine."

"Oh, must have mistaken it."

"Mulder, what's wrong?"

He scratched his head, trying to shake the ghostly cobwebs hanging all around him. He shut the tablet off and shoved it between the couch cushions. "I just had a nightmare, and it was about you, so I called. But you're fine, so it's fine. Everything is fine."

Every few nights his dreams would awaken him, forcing him to remember the details of his abduction, his career, and losing her. She always pulled his head against her chest and stroked his hair, whispering nonsense about starting up an herb garden or shaving the dog like a poodle. She excelled at distracting him.

But right now, her tone was something of a mystery. "Oh. I had one of those last night. We have a tiny houseguest, by the way."

"Iden is back already?"

"Deloris dropped her on our doorstep last night and drove off."

"What did she say?"

"Deloris said nothing. Iden said Deloris doesn't want her any more. I'm going to see her soon to try and clear this up. I'm just waiting for Iden to wake up. She had a rough night."

"I bet." He imagined the lively little girl, hurt by the notion of her pain. "Is there anything I can do? Do you want me to come back? I could explain it to Gene. I'm sure he would understand. We could just postpone the trip."

There was a pause, and Mulder suspected it was full of something he couldn't hope to understand. "No, Mulder, stay there. I can handle this. We just… we had a rough night. Iden is fine. I'm fine. Everything is fine." Her voice got a little softer. "So are you leaving soon?"

He stood, stretching to try and ease the tension in his back. It still felt like he had been stabbed. He ran his hands over it, making sure they didn't come back bloody. "We're not going into the cave today. Gene set up some interviews with local witnesses. Maybe they have some information they were too scared to put in the police reports."

"Like a ghost carrying their loved ones away?"

"Poltergeist, and no. Like smells or sounds that they didn't pay attention to at the time. Scully, are you sure everything is fine? You sound exhausted. Did you sleep at all?"

"I have to go. Promise me you'll stay out of trouble."

His words came out in a rush. "I promise. Scully… you would tell me if something was wrong, wouldn't you? I think we have that kind of relationship."

She sighed on the other end. "I can handle this. Keep in touch."

He stared at the phone after she had hung up, curious about what was going on in his house. He didn't want to antagonize her by calling back, and his interest in the caves was only fueled by the nightmare, so he pushed it to the back of his mind. He would find out when he got home.

He went downstairs and found his host in the kitchen, moving between the toaster and the tiny dining table in the corner. He was preparing frozen walls and reading a scientific journal at the same time. Mulder took one of the two chairs and positioned it against the wall, knowing that both of their knees would not fit under the table at the same time. It was a small room, but it had a seventies feel to it, with its crackly linoleum floors, outdated machinery, and tacky hand towels. It was just as warm and homey as the upstairs bedroom.

When Gene finished the waffle, he deposited it on the table and took his journal to the refrigerator, setting it where the butter was and safely storing the butter in the magazine rack near the door. Mulder tried to point out the blunder, but Gene just hummed in agreement, absorbed in his own thoughts.

"Good morning to you, too," Mulder muttered, switching the two items and returning to sit with the scientist. He grimaced at the charred waffles. "I take it you didn't sleep well."

Gene finally looked up, a touch of confusion in his eyes. "Huh? Oh, no, I don't think I slept at all. I was thinking about our conversation yesterday. Your theory is ridiculous, of course, but…"

"But you wonder what would happen if I was right," Mulder said, completing his thought. He sat back in his chair, recognizing the look the scientist gave him. "You remind me of Scully. When we first started working together she was a sceptic about everything."

"So she believes you now?"

"I wouldn't go that far. She's just not as doubtful as she was. It's complicated." He glanced out the window, and then at the clock, dismayed that it was almost ten in the morning. "You said you had some interviews set up with the witnesses. Did I miss them?"

"Oh, no, the first one is at eleven, across town."

"How many of them are local?"

"Seven, but only five agreed to the interview. Four other families from out of state are in hotels nearby. All of them agreed to talk to us. I think any news is good news for them." He sipped his coffee. "I'm going to finish my breakfast, and then we can go."

"I think that's more charcoal than waffle now," Mulder commented.

"Oh? I suppose it is. Someone keeps fiddling with my toaster. Perhaps it's your ghost."

"Maybe it's your ghost, Doc."


	6. Hope

**Hope.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 18, 2010.**

He ended up in another small room.

It was grandmotherly, with pictures of kids all over the walls, old holiday decorations lingering in the corners, plush carpets camouflaging multiple cats, and old straight-backed chairs gathered around a couch that dipped uncomfortably low. His first interview was with the owner of this house, an elderly woman with sad eyes. She seemed defenseless and afraid, but still determined to talk to him. Her jaw was set like stone, even while her idle hands trembled. He felt genuinely bad for bringing her into this.

She had invited them in, brought them to this room, and offered them both drinks, but that seemed to be the limit of her capacity for conversation. She stared at the floor, occasionally glancing up into his eyes, like she was afraid of him. It went on like that for a little while before Gene spoke.

"We just wanted to hear your story about the incident," Gene said, drawing the old woman's eyes as he shifted around in his chair. He motioned to Mulder. "This is my friend, Fox Mulder. I told you about him on the phone, remember?"

"I'm not senile," she snapped. She looked at Mulder, folding her hands together. "He said you work with the FBI. How come you're all the way out here?"

"I used to work with the FBI. I dealt in unusual circumstances."

"So you retired?"

He smiled and cleared his throat. Suddenly he was in the hot seat. "Uh, no, ma'am. Not exactly. I left the bureau to settle down. We didn't see eye-to-eye."

"So you got fired, then?"

"Not exactly."

"I had a friend who worked for the FBI, said they were all a bunch of crooks."

"I can assure you that I'm not a crook."

"Well, you don't look like one."

"I just wanted to ask you-"

"Do you know Randy Murray?"

"No, ma'am, I just-"

"He was my friend. Well, he was my friend's grandson. He died when the towers went down, you know. He was a real hero. He was about your age."

"I'm sorry, I don't know that name."

"Well you would have liked him."

"Ma'am, may I ask you-"

"Look at these hands," she interrupted again, holding up her hands. She ran her fingers over the bumps in her joints. "I have arthritis. Randy always used to help me with my groceries."

Mulder saw Gene smirking in the corner of his eye, and it was all he could do not to smack him. He should have never mentioned the FBI. He nodded to the old woman, but forced a change of subject. "I'm more curious about your experiences in the cave, Ms. Lawson."

"Oh, the caves?"

"Yes. I understand that you and your son were part of a tour group several weeks ago. I'm interested about that trip."

Her demeanor changed very suddenly. She went from the wicked boss of the house to a scared victim again. Her tone got darker and she drew her arms in, as if she had suddenly become cold. "Oh… I suppose you are. That place is awful." She looked away, her aging irises dragging across the carpet. She pointed out a picture on the mantle. "Up there is the last picture I took with Peter. It was right outside the cave. You can see the entrance in the background. It was one of those tourist pictures, you know. We were going to give it to the kids."

Mulder stood, surveying the picture. It was the woman, looking much happier, standing beside her adult son. He was looking up at the mouth of the cave, his arm strewn protectively over his mother's shoulders. Mulder could see a whole tour group funneling in behind them, and he wondered why, out of dozens of people, Peter Lawson had been taken.

He was joined by the old woman, who pulled the picture down. She carefully removed it from its frame and handed it to him. "If this will help you find him, I want you to take it."

"Ms. Lawson, I'm not sure that-"

"I know, I know, but just take it anyway." She went back to her chair, lightning a cigarette, taking one puff, and then grinding it out in her ashtray. "I just want you to have that, in case you find him. He looks just like his father – same name, too. My husband passed a few years ago. Peter came to live with me, with the kids. They were with their mother when… well, you know that part."

Mulder sat beside Gene, snapping to get his attention. With the scientist looking up, he finally asked the question he had been holding back. "Tell me what happened in that cave, Ms. Lawson."

She locked up again, staring thoughtfully away from curious eyes. "Oh. It's not a long story. He was beside me, going on about his catering business, and then he was gone. I thought he had taken another passage so I backtracked, but there was nothing. It was just solid rock up and down the tunnel. No one had seen him go. He was just gone."

"Did you hear anything?" Gene asked.

Her eyes glazed a bit. "Well, yes. I heard him… yelling. He shouted something… and then there was a loud bang, like he had fallen."

"You didn't notice anything else unusual?" Mulder asked. "Did you smell sulfur? Was the cave suddenly colder than before? Did you hear anything out of place, like running water or wind?"

"It was all like that, the whole cave," she answered.

"But was it colder where you were? Was the smell stronger?"

"I don't know what you're trying to ask me."

Mulder leaned in a little closer, lowering his voice. "Ms. Lawson, I think your son may have been taken by a poltergeist. I've read accounts of spirits in that cave dating back hundreds of years. It would explain how he went missing from a closed tunnel."

She frowned. He could tell she was not buying into his story, but there was a painful hope in the back of her eyes. She would believe anything, acknowledge anything, and say anything, if it meant her son could come back to her. She spoke in a soft sort of whisper, as if she was afraid the spirits would hear her and finish the job. "Do you think he might be alive then, Mr. Mulder?"

"I'm not sure yet. I've heard stories of poltergeists corralling their victims for some time after capture. He's only been gone for a month, so it might be possible."

She smiled cautiously. "I hope you're right. He was a good boy. We just want him back. This is awful, losing him so soon after his father. He was broken up about that, you know. His father was his best friend. Oh, my boys."

"If I can bring him back to you, I will," Mulder said, empathizing with the pain she was feeling. It was the awful sense of not knowing – not knowing if someone close to them was dead, suffering, or living on someplace else. It was something he had experienced, and something he hated to see in others.

It went on like that for a good portion of the day. Gene was skeptical of his approach, a little weary to give people hope that their loved ones were alive, but he admitted his enchantment with the strength it gave them. Some reacted badly to his theory – one grieving husband took a swing at him, missed, and then collapsed into a sobbing heap at his feet – but most erred on the side of cautious optimism. Even if they thought he was a total loon, hearing someone say they were going to look for these missing people was uplifting.

Mulder was surprised by the willingness of the locals to believe his stories. He had never met so much acceptance, not during his entire career in the FBI, not even from his own allies in the supernatural business. It was psychologically fascinating to him. He gave them something to think about, something to hold on to when the rest of the 'facts' were so intangible.

"You have a way with people."

It was finally six in Glasgow. He was sitting across from Gene in the back booth of a local restaurant, picking at a plate of fried shrimp. It was a hazy place, made up of every shade of dark brown, and covered in faded posters from six decades ago. It was humming with soft country music that served to drown out the conversations of other patrons. He liked it here. The hypnotic smell of apple pie at the front bar, the curious glances from locals, the deep baritone of uncensored tourists – it was the setting of an old mob movie starring some Hollywood heartthrob.

He regarded Gene with the same patient amusement he had the entire day. Going on very little sleep, the scientist had progressed further and further into goofiness, from taking the time to straighten lawn gnomes to confessing his love for a certain teenage country music star. Right now he was staring at Mulder, a pale pink wooden umbrella between his index finger and his thumb, pointing at him with a serious look on his face.

"I mean that. Really. Every time you opened your mouth today, everybody just let it all out. When I spoke to these people on the phone I got veiled irritation, at best. You have ten new best friends. It's just spooky. How on Earth did you manage that?"

Mulder took his own umbrella out, gnawing on the end while he spoke. "That was my job. I'm a trained investigator." He smiled. "And I understand what they're going through."

"Someone you know went missing?"

He accidentally snapped the umbrella in half. Glancing up, sure that the scientist had noted the reaction, he set it down on the table, halfheartedly uniting the two pieces. "Yeah. Something like that. You said something earlier about false hope… it's not false. It's just hope. Giving people something to hold onto can mean the world to them. It can mean the difference between suicidal depression and being able to live on. Holding back from them – it doesn't help them, it just hurts."

Gene took a sip of his drink. "Did you ever find this person that you knew?"

Mulder sighed. "I did and I didn't. But that's not the point."

"It made you better, then? Having something to hold onto?"

"It made me… who I am." He slid his shrimp away, suddenly not in the mood to pick at them. "Whether it made me better is a conversation you need to have with Scully." He brushed the broken pieces of his umbrella toward the napkin holder, grimacing. "Did you talk to that ranger friend of yours? Is he going to escort us?"

"Oh, yeah, of course. Sal was his friend, too. He'll meet us at dawn tomorrow."

"That easy, huh?"

"Well, we're not exactly taking the main gate. He knows a quiet way in."

"I can't believe they're still letting tourists into the caves."

"They're not."

Mulder frowned. "They shut the caves down?"

"I thought you knew that. What we're doing is completely illegal. Is that a problem?"

He smirked. He had a little angelic version of Scully on his shoulder begging him to walk the straight and narrow, but the little demon on his other shoulder was his younger self, and the prospect of breaking the law to investigate the paranormal didn't even phase him. He pulled his plate back and dug in. "Not a problem. Just don't tell Scully."


	7. Transfer

**Transfer.**

 **Wayfield, Virginia.**

 **May 18, 2010.**

Scully pulled up to the little trailer at the edge of the park, where Deloris had made her home since the late eighties. Signs of her drastically younger sister were all over the place – a princess bike parked against the steps, a drawing of an alien dripping down a chalkboard on the lawn, several dozen mud pies baking in the mid-May sunshine. She had left the little girl with Nancy, who was in the middle of a nice three-day weekend. She felt guilty for dumping another kid on the mother of three, but Nancy insisted when she heard what Deloris had done. Scully left out the part about the possessed furniture and the terrifying visions of the future.

She walked up to the door, grimacing at the old ash tray with specs of green floating around in its murky water. Deloris was not a smoker, but she was convinced she could divine things from ashes. She had once almost burned her house down after lighting a phone book on fire.

She knocked three times on the door, waiting to hear someone stirring inside. Her car was not in the driveway, but Deloris had a habit of leaving it places when it ran out of gas. She very well could have been inside, and steadfastly ignoring Scully. She knocked again, getting a little frustrated, and tried to see into the window.

"Deloris? Deloris, I need to talk to you. It's Dana Scully. I'm not mad at you, I just want an explanation. Can you open the door please?"

One of the neighbors exited his house, coming down his steps and approaching her. "She ain't home. She left last night, took all her shit, gave me the keys to her trailer. She won't get it through her skull that I ain't the landlord."

Scully's heart sunk. "Can I see those keys?"

She let herself into the single-wide, pausing in the doorway to get a lay of the place. It was tiny, and decorated mostly in pink. Scully could see why Iden preferred spending time at their house out in the valley – she could actually stretch her legs. Other than a few old dolls and a pile of kids' clothes on the back bed, the trailer was empty. Deloris had taken everything.

Scully went through the empty drawers, her scowl growing deeper the longer she was there. How could she leave her sister like that? Iden had already lost so much.

She found two pieces of paper lying on the couch. One was a voluntary transfer of custody form, and the other was a long, detailed letter stating not where Deloris had gone, but how much better off Iden would be if she lived with Scully and Mulder. The custody form was signed and stamped by a judge, and the letter had a forgery of Scully's signature at the bottom.

"What have you done?" Scully murmured as she left the trailer. She took the clothes and dolls with her. Once she was back in her car, she rested her forehead on the steering wheel.

She felt like she had been blown out of the water. First, it was the night of the living toaster ovens, and now she was the legal guardian of a nine-year-old girl? She felt dizzy. She felt like she had never woken up from her dreams.

Scully went to the courthouse next, sitting outside the judges' chambers for several hours until his session with a crying couple ended. He looked surprised to see her.

"Good afternoon, Ms. Scully."

"Can you tell me what this is?" she asked, holding out the documents.

He took them, skimming over the custody form and glancing at the letter. "Your transfer of custody papers regarding Iden Winter. Deloris and I went over these yesterday. What do you-?" He paused suddenly, his face going pale. "I had a feeling about this."

"You had a feeling," Scully said, nodding. "Well, that's great, Phil. I'm glad you had a feeling. You let her forge my signature and give her sister to me!"

"Where is she now?"

"I have no idea. That's why I'm here. I found her trailer empty except for these documents."

He rubbed his forehead. "I wasn't even supposed to grant this kind of permission without holding a formal hearing, with all involved parties. I'm not even sure how this happened."

Scully let out an angry, shaky breath. "Is this official?"

"I can put her in the custody of the state and get in touch with social services."

"Foster care?" Scully hated the idea of it. When she thought of the furniture creeping up on her, she agreed completely with it, but when she thought of the girl curled up in her arms, sleeping peacefully after a night full of trauma, she couldn't think of anything more terrible. She knew this kid. This was not just _some_ kid. Iden was her friend.

The judge mopped his brow, still looking flustered. "Honestly, I don't know why I did it. Deloris was just so insistent."

Scully shook her head. "No, no, don't change it. I can take care of her. I'm more than qualified."

"But you've never had a child before, Ms. Scully."

"I have," Scully said before she thought to stop herself. She looked away from him. "Just… just forget about this, and I won't bring this up again. I'm sure you don't want anyone else to know what you've done here."

"Are you blackmailing me?"

"I'm telling you how it's going to be," Scully started backing away. "As far as the state is concerned, this document came about through legitimate channels. Now, if you'll excuse me, I have something to take care of."

Phil was staring at her, a mixture of surprise and outrage in his eyes, as she walked out of the courtroom. She did her best not to look back, but she watched him in the reflective glass doors. Her heart was racing again. She was only halfway sure of what she was doing.

She called Mulder again as she left the building, tempted to throw her phone when it went straight to voicemail. Again she had forgotten that he didn't have his cellphone. She called the home he was staying in, standing outside of her car while the phone rang endlessly. They weren't home, or he was ignoring her. Either way, her anxiety grew.

"Come on, Mulder, pick up the damn phone" she growled, shoving her phone back into her pocket. She sat in her car for a few minutes, unsure of what she wanted to do next.

She drove to the supermarket, watching Katie Whitehead shove carts around in the parking lot. She didn't seem outwardly distraught. Scully saw no signs that the girl's life was being threatened, but she couldn't simply drive off. Iden had been so terrified the night before. Her insistence that Katie was in danger was enough to convince Scully to investigate.

She got out of her car, trying to act casual as she approached the teenager. "Hi, Katie."

Katie whipped around, grinning. She had been Scully's patient for over six months, ever since her ear drum ruptured during soccer practice one evening. She was sweet, but kind of ditzy, the type of kid parents worried would take candy from strangers.

"Oh, hi, Dr. Scully," Katie responded, completely forgetting what she was doing to give Scully a tight hug. "I thought you just went shopping the other day."

There were only two grocery stores in town, and Scully favored this one. "I did. I came out here to see you, actually. Do you have a break coming up?"

"Um, not for another hour," Katie said, glancing around. "What's wrong?"

"It's probably nothing." She watched the kid for a moment, curious about her wandering eyes. She decided to go for it. "I just thought I saw someone following you earlier."

Katie drew in a hard breath, confirming her suspicions. "You did? Was it a white car?"

Scully did a quick sweep of the parking lot. She didn't see a white car. "Um, maybe. I'm not sure. You knew you were being followed?"

"It's Heath," Katie said, turning to push a few carts into line. She drew them out, looking around again. Scully saw unmistakable caution in her eyes. "Um, I have to get back to work. Will you meet me inside on my break?"

"Okay. I'll be back in an hour."

Scully never left the parking lot. She did a few laps around it, even checking the back of the building for the white car Katie had unwittingly told her about. She had no idea who this Heath character might be, but Katie seemed convinced that he was following her. She was afraid enough to set off alarms in Scully's head. Perhaps Iden was right about this after all.

When an hour had passed, Scully headed inside. She found Katie waiting anxiously by the coin machine, and as soon as she spotted Scully, she grabbed her arm and led her into the back of the store. The break room was empty.

"Where did you see him?" Katie asked. She looked like she wanted to pace, but she stood stiffly instead, skinny arms wrapped around her chest.

Scully urged the girl into the nearest chair, sitting beside her. "That's not important. How long has he been following you? Has he threatened you?"

Katie shrugged, leaning heavily into her hand. "I don't know… He just kept showing up at places I was at… and then I noticed his car everywhere I was. He said it was a coincidence, but I drove around for like an hour last night and he followed me the _whole time_."

"Is he an ex-boyfriend?"

"No! I mean, we talked and went to see a movie together – it was really awkward, so I stopped texting him. He keeps sending me these long messages and I just…"

"Have you talk to your dad about this?"

"I wasn't supposed to go out with him!" she said, her eyes tearing up. Her words began to run together in a long line of teenage angst. "I snuck out of the house. Dad said he's too old for me – he's a junior in college – and if I tell him… I can't tell him."

Scully had two tracts of thought on her mind. She was sitting with a teenage girl, just shy of seventeen years old, talking about her stalker. His pursuits were not casual. Following someone around all hours of the day was a slippery slope behavior. He could feel inclined to hurt her if his feelings were not reciprocated. She knew what the best course of action was for this – if this had been any other girl. But Iden had dreamt of her. She had seen her being beaten this very night.

What was Scully supposed to do with this information?

"Okay. Do you trust me, Katie?"

Katie nodded, wiping tears away. "Yeah, of course, Dr. Scully."

"You and I are going to tell your dad about Heath."

Katie jumped up immediately. "No! I can't!"

"Listen," Scully said, grabbing her hand and pulling her back down into her chair. "Did you know that I used to work for the FBI, Katie?"

Katie shook her head, frowning. "You did?"

"Yes. You and your dad are going to file a police report, and you're going to tell the police everything that's happened between you and Heath so far. I'm going to call an old friend and make sure that there's someone looking out for you until they find Heath. How does that sound?"

Katie sniffled, pulling her shirt up to dry her face.

"When do you get off work today?"

"At six."

"Okay. I'm going to come back here at six and make sure you get home. If I see Heath, he's going to wish he had never met you."

She smiled a little, but it was gone in a second. She took Scully's hand, her voice sinking into a terrified whisper. "Do you think he wants to… what does he want?"

"Nothing that he's going to get," Scully responded.


	8. Premonition

**Premonition.**

 **Wayfield, Virginia.**

 **May 18, 2010.**

Scully sat on the front porch, watching Iden and Frankie attempt to catch fireflies. Her day had been a long one, marred by every possible catastrophe. She was now the legal guardian of the girl giggling on her lawn. She was sitting in a chair that had been mashed against the wall that morning, trying to find its way to her during the spontaneous haunting the night before. She had her mind on the insane diviner who had shirked her responsibilities, and on the teenage girl she had followed to her house. She was still anxious about the vision Iden had experienced, even though the kid seemed to have forgotten it in the wake of her own busy day.

It was a hell of a time to be alone. She had her phone in her hands, wondering if Mulder would be back at home base in Kentucky by now. He was probably still interviewing those people whose loved ones had gone missing.

She redialed the number again, expecting to get the answering machine.

Mulder picked up. "Scully?"

She breathed a sigh of relief. Just hearing his voice made the chaos around her seem a little more manageable. "Mulder. I called earlier. I guess you were out."

"Our interviews went a little… long. Sorry. Is something wrong?"

"No." She was watching Iden as she spoke. "I went to check on Deloris' place. She left some clothes for Iden, but she took everything else."

She heard a mattress moving in the background. "Where is Iden now?"

"I have her. She's catching fireflies."

"What's going to happen to her?"

Scully held herself back. Again, she thought it would be best if he stayed there and did what he had to do. She didn't want him to come running back. She went with the easiest answer. "I'm keeping her for now, until we figure out what happened to Deloris."

"Do you want me to come back, Scully?"

"I can handle this. It's fine." Scully swallowed. She didn't know why she kept saying that. "Did you come up with any new theories after talking to the witnesses?"

He sounded hesitant, but also excited. He was horrible at hiding it. "Nothing new. It's just a lot harder to hear those things in person. Can you imagine walking beside your loved one, and then just losing them, just like that? It was like they fell off the face of the Earth."

"Dimensional portals?"

"You know I love it when you talk dirty."

She laughed. "I was just making sure you were awake. You sound exhausted."

"I am. Gene is a handful. I swear he took LSD before we left this morning."

"He sounds like you."

"I didn't spend ten minutes arranging garden gnomes to look like they were playing poker."

"You tied the garden hose into a balloon animal."

"It was full of spiders. I told you that."

"I found no spiders."

"Because I tied it up and drowned them."

She was quiet for a moment, appreciating the soft sound of his laughter. "When will you be able to check in tomorrow? I don't like the idea of you going dark for a whole week."

"I said it _might_ take a week. Four hundred miles is a lot of ground to cover."

"Covering four hundred miles in a week is impossible."

"We won't walk all of it. No one has gone missing from the upper tunnels. Most of the disappearances can be traced back to one section in the northwest corner of the cave. You have to get a physical to get clearance to join the tour group for that area."

"You didn't answer my question, you know."

"I was dodging it."

"I noticed."

"If you wanted to keep tabs on me, you should have come."

She winced. "Yeah, right. And get dragged into your insanity again? I don't think so." She took a breath, and then whispered. "Just please be careful. If your instincts tell you to do something, do the opposite. Your instincts suck. Never listen to them."

"Wow you are just super supportive tonight."

"I mean it, Mulder. I'm not bailing you out and I'm not visiting you in the hospital."

"Will you at least send me flowers?"

She was silent, waiting.

"Okay, okay, fine. I won't do anything stupid. If a giant snake or a giant alligator leaps out of the water I'll run the other way – after I take a few pictures, of course."

" _Picture_ me rolling my eyes."

"I love you."

"I love you too, you big idiot." She paused thoughtfully for a moment, and then she grew serious. "Call me if you need me. Day or night."

His voice became very soft. "I wish that… I wish I could be…"

"In two places at once?" she murmured in response.

"I wish this wasn't so hard on you."

She was at a loss for words for a moment. He had no idea what was going on here, but somehow he still sensed it. Sometimes their connection took her by surprise. "Goodnight, Mulder. Be safe."

She hung up on him. He seemed torn, and she wasn't sure how to comfort him. She held onto the phone for a little while, imagining him curled up on some rundown bed, and then she set it aside. She would let him worry about himself while she worried about the situation at home. When he returned, they would handle this together.

"Dana, look!" Iden called, prancing around with her jar of lightning bugs. Frankie was right behind her, leaping at anything that glowed and trying to make a meal of it.

Scully stood up to join them, ready to give Iden the news that Katie would be safe tonight, but Iden had stopped suddenly. She looked at Scully, and then at the dog, and then at the sky – her eyes settled on the moon. Scully approached, but just before she reached the girl the jar of fireflies slipped out of her hands.

Iden blinked.

"Dana… I think he found her."


	9. Cluster

**Cluster.**

 **Wayfield, Virginia.**

 **May 18, 2010**.

She was standing in her front yard, both hands resting on the shoulders of a child with the moon reflecting in her eyes. Her pulse quickened with expectation. She felt the adrenaline beginning to pulse in her veins. It was reminiscent of the old days, when a break in the case indicated that someone, somewhere, was going to be victimized.

"What do you mean?" Scully demanded. "Who found her?"

Iden was shaking. She looked away from the moon, her lip trembling. Her fear was palpable. Her eyes darted to the road and back. "He's going to kill her!"

It all came to her suddenly. Iden was having a waking vision. She was seeing Katie again. Scully grabbed the girl and dragged her toward the front steps, ordering Frankie back into the house as well. She went in for her gun, tucking it into her pants.

"I want to go with you!" Iden whined.

Scully held up her hand, keeping the girl from following her back outside. "Go into my bedroom and lock yourself in. If anybody comes to the house, you don't open the door, okay?"

She went out to the SUV, struggling with the keys. When she was on the road, giving her home frantic glances in the rearview mirror, she called the local police station. She got an automated message and punched through to the receptionist.

"I need to speak to Hector Queen right now."

"Officer Queen is on patrol, ma'am, I could-"

Scully hung up, calling his personal number.

"Hello? Dana?"

"Hector! What is the status of Katie Whitehead?"

"Whoa, what's going on?"

"Give me her status, Hector!"

"Okay, okay. Let me ask." She heard him requesting the information over the radio. "This is Officer Queen. 140, I need you status." Her heart began to hammer at the total silence he got in response. He repeated his request. "That's strange," he murmured to her. "Hold on." Scully heard something beeping, and then an engine starting. "Does anybody have eyes on 140? Does anybody know if Danny is still sitting on that house?"

Scully pushed her SUV as much as she could without hurtling herself into the ditch. She could still hear Hector trying to contact his officer in the background. She had the sick feeling that Danny was far beyond being able to answer that call.

"I'm not getting anything," Hector said. She heard his sirens blaring. "I'm on my way out there right now. Just sit tight Dana."

"I'm on my way, too," Scully said.

"No, no, you stay away from this. I'm calling in backup."

"I have a responsibility to that girl, and I'm closer."

"Dana you can't just-"

She hung up on him – a common theme for the day – and pushed the SUV a little harder. Her mind was going in all directions. She thought of Iden wailing the night before, the terror that lived in her as she witnessed what was about to happen. She heard the Iden's words again, the fearful whisper about the fate of the innocent young girl.

Katie lived way back in the woods. Her house popped up before the town did. Scully could see flashing blue lights echoing through the trees, but there was no siren going off. She came upon the police car parked beside the driveway, the door open, the engine running. There was no sign of the officer. Scully cut off her headlights and drove on, parking a bit closer to the house, but not so close that anyone would hear her coming. She loaded her gun and cocked it, flicking the safety off for the first time in a long time. It felt natural in her hands.

She cut the car off and slipped out, leaving the door cracked open to avoid slamming it. Katie lived with her father and grandmother – her father worked nights at the tire factory in the next town over and her grandmother was well into her seventies and confined to a wheelchair. Scully knew them both personally from the hospital, as she had spent many late nights sitting with Mary while she waited to perform her physical therapy. It was the whole reason she was Katie's doctor. Mary had insisted that Katie join Scully's very short patient list, trusting no one else with the girl's care.

Her knowledge of the family weighed heavily on her mind as she passed between two cars. One of them was Katie's, a beat up Intrepid, and one was a dented white Crown Victoria, eerily similar in appearance to a police car.

She went up the front steps, listening for signs of activity inside. She heard crying. She was filled with the instinct to protect the child inside. She went back down the steps, circling the house, trying to get a look at what was happening. She finally found a window near the kitchen, and what she saw chilled her. It was out of place in this beautiful town.

Katie was on her knees, sobbing, staring at the ground. Beside her was the officer Hector had been calling. Scully had seen him around town. His wife had come to the hospital the other day, and Scully had been the one to perform a pregnancy test on her in the free clinic. It was positive. His name was Danny Gutierrez, and he was dead. He had a gunshot wound to his temple. His eyes were still wide with shock. He was splayed awkwardly beside the teenager.

Holding the girl there, gun in hand, was a hooded figure, his face visible because of the harsh kitchen lights. Scully pulled out her cellphone and snapped a picture of him, gasping and ducking down when the flash went off. She shrunk into the bushes.

She heard him curse inside. Footsteps came across the front. She heard the door open. Instead of sitting around for him to find her, she crept to the back, peeping through the back window. She tapped on it, aware of the gun-wielding stalker coming around the house toward her. Katie looked right at her, her eyes widening. Scully beckoned her.

Katie came to unlock the door and Scully scrambled inside, locking it back. She raced for the front door just as the suspect came to the back. She threw on the deadbolt and urged Katie upstairs, running after her. "Go to the bedroom. Go!"

Scully sat with the girl, listening as the perp tried to break down the front door. He succeeded after four attempts. She heard him running up the stairs, banging around in the house, slamming his gun against the walls and cursing.

"Katie! Get out here, you bitch! _Katie_!"

Scully wrapped her arms around the teenager. She had locked the bedroom door, but she wasn't sure it would hold. She moved Katie into the master bathroom, instructing her to lock herself inside, and Scully waited right beside the door.

He was outside of it. She heard him breathing. "I love you, Katie," he whispered. He must have thought Katie was standing there listening to him. "Hey, sweetie, I didn't mean to scare you."

"Listen to me," Scully said, glad she could hear sirens blaring outside. "I am armed. If you attempt to enter this room, I will shoot you. The police are on their way. If you chose to stay, this won't end well for you." He was quiet, but she didn't hear him leaving. "Don't do it, Heath!"

Just then, the door was knocked open. The force of it took part of the frame down. Scully jumped back, surprised, and fired on the man who came through. He was looking around wildly, ready to fire his gun at the first person he saw. Scully hit him in the chest, a strong cluster near his heart, and he dropped almost immediately. His gun bounced a few feet away.

Katie started screaming in the bathroom. Scully tucked her gun into her pants and stepped around the body. "Let me in, Katie. It's me. It's Dr. Scully."

The door opened and Scully walked in, blocking the girl's view of the body. She stroked her face, doing her best to calm her. "Hey, hey, it's okay. Look at me. It's okay now. I'm not going to let him hurt you, okay? I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

"Is he… dead?"

Scully looked back, regretting the youth in the face of the man she had killed. "Yes," she responded softly. "Yes… he's dead."

She surrendered her gun to the police officers who rushed upstairs. Hector was among them. He helped her escort Katie outside. Scully stayed with her, one arm secure around her shoulders, until her father, Parker, drove up. He was a little over six feet tall, built like a tank with hands the size of softballs. When he got his arms around his daughter, his expression became dangerous.

"Where is this bastard?" he demanded.

"He's dead," Scully provided, getting a hard look from Hector, who was preparing to write down her statement. "I shot him four times."

Parker blew a hard breath through his nostrils. "Good."

Scully nodded, placing her hand on Katie's back once more before she went to join Hector. She sat in the back of an ambulance, constantly swatting away the hands of EMTs who insisted they get a look at the scrape on her shoulder. Part of the doorframe had whacked her on the way down. She had little patience for them. She didn't feel it, anyway. Her body was too wired.

"How did you know to come here?" Hector asked her. He had his pen and paper out. He was as respectful as he had always been in her office – his boys had fallen under her care after having a nasty encounter with a wasps' nest. He was one of the kindest people she knew in Wayfield.

She had no solid answer for that question. "You know the first part of the story. I saw someone following Katie this morning, and when I asked her about it, she admitted that someone had been stalking her – an ex-boyfriend. I just had this bad feeling."

"Me too," Hector said, jotting her words down. "When Danny didn't respond…"

"I'm sorry he died," Scully said. It was beginning to turn into a circus in front of the Whitehead residence. Every cop in the town was there, responding to the ominous call of an officer down. She hated to see the pain in their eyes. She looked up to watch the body being carried out. Officers started taking off their hats and staring at the ground.

Hector looked up, too, sighing. "He was just a kid. Danny was, what, two years out of the academy? He transferred from Houston, of all places."

Scully finished her statement – every grueling detail she could remember – and then called Iden to make sure she was doing alright on her own. Once she was satisfied that her little charge was safe, she volunteered to hang around and act out the encounter with Hector. He wrote everything down, grateful for the help. It was almost six in the morning when the police cars finally started pulling away. Scully came back outside, watching them tow the white car.

"She might have died, if you hadn't intervened," Hector said. He came up to her side, watching the car bob down the driveway. "She said she thought he might be suicidal. If we had rolled up, sirens going, he might have done something drastic."

Scully looked back at the house. "When can they come back home?"

"We called in a crew from Richmond to clean up the scene. It should take a few days." He looked sideways at her. "Honestly, you're the bravest person I know."

"This used to be my job," she said.

"Of course, the chief is going to want to chew you out for getting involved in police business," Hector huffed. "But you know that's just a formality to discourage vigilantes. What you did here was absolutely called for."

Scully started a slow walk back to her car, still pursued by the officer. "Why do I feel so guilty, then?" she wondered, almost to herself.

"You shouldn't," Hector insisted. He opened her door for her, still hovering while she started the car. "Hey, listen, if you need somebody to talk to about all this, don't hesitate to call me on my cell. You were always there when I had questions about Sarah."

Sarah was his youngest child, born on the day that his wife died. "Thanks, Hector," Scully responded, smiling when he finally got out of the way. She rolled down her window. "Do you happen to know which hotel the Whiteheads went to?"

She drove silently, her mind focusing on everything and nothing at the same time. She had shot someone today. She had saved the life of a young girl, but she had also shot someone. There was dark symmetry in that. Where were his parents at? Who would the morgue call when his bullet-riddled body rolled onto the autopsy table? Who would shrink back in horror as they came in to identify his surprised face?

She was faced with the kinds of questions she had always faced in the FBI, but they were heavier now that she was older. She no longer had the protection of the department, or the sanctuary of paperwork. She was alone with her thoughts, always.

She pulled up to a rundown hotel on the edge of the highway. It was situated awkwardly between the mountains and the plateau that was Wayfield. It barely got any business, and Scully had heard rumors of it being populated by passing criminals, prostitutes, and vampires – the last one, of course, being a theory of Mulder's. It was also a very cheap place to sleep when you had nowhere else to go. Parker Whitehead chose it because he was not dancing beneath the money tree.

She knocked on their door. "Katie? Mr. Whitehead? It's Dr. Scully."

It opened almost immediately. Parker stood before her, looking just as grim and dangerous as he had when he had come to get his daughter. He stepped out with her, cracking the door. "Katie is sleeping," he informed her, glancing up and down the walkway.

She looked around him, seeing the teenager snoozing on the couch in the back of the room. She smiled, glad she looked at least a little peaceful. "How is she doing?"

Parker sighed. "She's scared, but it could be much worse." He cleared his throat, dropping his tough dad act for a split second. "You saved her life tonight, Dr. Scully. I can't even express… If I had lost her… you didn't have to… if you need anything…"

"I was just coming to invite you to stay at my house until this all gets settled," Scully said, cutting off his sad chain of sentences. She put her hand on his shoulder. "I think it would be a nice place for Katie, and I could keep an eye on her while you work."

He scratched his head, which he always kept clean-shaved. "I can't accept that. It's too much."

"I insist," Scully said. "Katie deserves to feel safe."

"What about your husband? Is this okay with him?"

"He's… out of town at the moment. We have an extra bedroom, and a couch. You two would fit right in. Please. I wouldn't feel right leaving you in this hotel after all you've both been through."

He drew in a heavy breath, and then he looked back at his daughter. His expression was sad. It was the look Scully wore when she came within inches of losing Mulder. It was the look Mulder wore when he came within inches of losing her. It was the ghostly feeling of having the most important part of life almost torn away.

"I'll bring her down that way when she wakes up."

Scully nodded, her hand sliding off of his shoulder. She could feel him watching her from the window as she loaded up in her car.

She made it back to the house at seven. Iden was staring at her through the window as she approached, and Frankie burst through the doggy door, doing laps around her. Scully waved at the little girl, unable to produce a smile for her.

"What happened?" Iden asked as soon as Scully stepped inside. "Is she dead?"

Scully kicked off her shoes, groaning when her feet began to ache. She trudged toward the bathroom. "No, Katie is fine."

"Oh. Are you okay?"

"No," Scully responded. She dropped her coat in the hall and turned on the shower. She looked at herself in the mirror. She had miraculously avoided getting blood on her at the scene, but she still felt like she was covered in it. Metaphorically.

Iden waited in the doorway. "What happened?" she repeated.

"I… She was in trouble when I found her, but I saved her," Scully said, wondering how to explain what she had done to a nine-year-old. "I… I got the guy who was trying to hurt her."

Iden was frowning. "I know."

"What do you mean?"

"I saw you kill the bad guy in my dreams. You shot him."

Scully leaned over the sink, groaning again. Her back was burning now. "Iden… forget about that. Just think about Katie, okay? She's fine. Your vision… it helped me save her life." Scully looked up suddenly, surprised by her own words. "You saved her life."

Iden shifted around, unsure about the situation. "Can we go to bed now?"

"How long have you been up?"

"Since five."

Scully adjusted the temperature in the shower, shooing the little girl so she could get undressed. "Let me shower first. If Katie comes to the door with her dad, let them in."

"Okay!"

When she was clean, and her hair was dried, and the house was glowing with the warm morning sun, Scully realized she could finally rest. She spent a little while in the windowsill, calling the house that Mulder was staying in over and over again and getting no answer. She welcomed her new guests, spent twenty minutes arguing with Iden about why she should have to go to school that day, and then crashed in the middle of the afternoon, curling up in her bed and locking the world out. She was occasionally awakened by the sound of the girls giggling outside, or Parker flipping through the television in the living room, but it was otherwise silent.

Her dreams went back to Mulder, and though it had only been a few days since she had slept beside him last, she longed for his return. She wanted him to explain what had happened to her. She wanted to share her sudden belief in psychic abilities, and get some reassurance about her sanity.

She wanted to lay against his shoulder, his protective eyes on her, and listen to his heartbeat until she awakened. But her bed was empty, and her mind was free to run wild.


	10. Lost

**Lost.**

 **Wayfield, Virginia.**

 **May 18, 2010.**

It was almost ten at night when she dragged herself out of bed. She felt like she had been hit by a truck. Frankie was even giving her a weird look, her mottled head tilted. Scully caught a look at herself in the bathroom mirror and grimaced. She looked like she had been hit by a truck as well. She had woken at least a dozen times during the night, stirring from weird, colorful dreams and bristling like a cat. It almost felt like someone had been in the room with her.

She checked her messages when she got back into the room, half-heartedly hoping for something from Mulder. She hadn't heard from him since their conversation on Tuesday night. It was already Thursday, leaning on Friday. She blamed her nightmares partially on his absence.

Iden was sleeping in her bed, her little arms wrapped around Frankie, and she heard the TV still playing in the living room. She ventured out, throwing her robe on, and found Parker napping on the couch. He was in his work clothes, probably prepared to leave the moment the alarm on his phone went off. He was supposed to be there by midnight.

She looked into the guest bedroom, smiling at the teenager splayed across the bed. She slept like Mulder, trying to take up as much space as she possibly could.

Scully ended up in the yard, dragging the dog out with her. Frankie trotted around in the grass, doing her business and making sure every blade of grass was covered in her scent. Scully stayed on the front porch, relaxing in her rocking chair. She started a message to Mulder on her phone, her fingers hovering over the letters. "Dear Mulder, I'm pretty sure the mole people have you by now. It was nice knowing you. Regards, Scully."

She smiled, deleting it. He would be thrilled if he was kidnapped by mole people. She didn't want to put that idea in his head. Instead, she shortened it _. I miss you._ And then she remembered for the third time that his phone was broken. He would never get that message.

She stayed out for a while, following the dog idly through the yard. Frankie went for a swim in the lake and returned, tail wagging, to shake the water off on Scully. She walked to the edge of the woods, smiling at the stupid spaceship mailbox sitting crookedly beside the driveway. She had got him that for Christmas last year, and every time she saw it she couldn't help but grin.

She was going to go back inside to try and get some more sleep, but there was a car coming down her driveway. Frankie started barking and she saw a light pop on in the house.

It was a police car.

She waited as it pulled up beside her. Hector was in the front seat, his arm resting in the open window. He stared at her with a sad, sad expression, and then got out. He handed her a folded flag with a suit resting on top of it. It was one of Mulder's suits.

"What is this?" she asked, blinking. Her head felt clouded.

Hector looked at the ground, scuffing his shoes around. "I'm so sorry for your loss."

Scull could barely get the words out. "M-M-Mulder? Where is he?"

"I'm so sorry," Hector repeated.

Scully stirred violently from her nightmares. She was in her room, sitting among her startled bedmates and a pile of white blankets. Her heart banged against her ribcage. She fought against the sudden sadness that followed her awful, awful dreams.

Iden sat up with her, her little eyes wide. "Did you have a bad dream?"

Scully nodded, unable to find words.

"Was it about Fox?"

Her heart stuttered. "What? Why?" Had Iden had a vision about Mulder?

"You were saying his name in your sleep," Iden responded. She twisted her lips, pulling the covers back up to her chest. "I think he's okay. I would know if something happened to him."

Scully laid back. "It was just so real. I thought… I saw Parker on the couch, and Katie was sleeping in the guest room. I took the dog outside."

"Katie's dad went to work already," Iden said, "And Katie is on the couch."

Scully tried to force herself to relax. She had had a rough couple of days and it wasn't unheard of to experience vivid nightmares like that. She had experienced similar dreams when she and Mulder were dealing with the fetishist. Her mind had a tendency to cling to the darkest parts of every day.

Iden snuggled a little closer to her, her eyes luminous in the moonlight. "Fox is gonna be okay. He's cold right now, and lost, but I think he's safe."

"How do you know he's lost?"

"I don't know," Iden said simply, apparently not at all concerned for him. "He's safe, though."


	11. Passage

**Passage.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 19, 2010.**

Mulder was barely awake. He had spent the night plagued by nightmares again. He had only slept a few hours in the grainy hours of the early morning, but he had been awakened at dawn by his host stomping up the stairs like an excited child. He shuffled his way through his morning routine and climbed into the middle row of Gene's van, anticipating a few more guests. Gene had told him the names, but it was too early for that kind of information to stick.

One by one, they picked up the other scientists in their little expedition wagon. Russell Pierce was the first. He looked like a high school kid at first glance, but when he spoke his intelligence was evident – and so was his dorkiness. He started jabbering about arthritis in cows and it didn't end until they made their second stop to pick up a young woman. Helena Mustard was more cynical and anti-supernatural than Scully was, but she went on and one about mites like they were the chosen race. One monologue ended and the two of them started bickering, like they were picking up on an argument they had had the last time they were together. Mulder just watched them, picking up the details but not engaging. He was a little leery of the can of pepper spray hanging around the woman's neck, and even more hesitant when she threatened to kill Russell with the contents of her first aid kit – a murder that would be quite ironic.

His third guest was an older man with distinctive Native American features. He introduced himself as John and sat beside Mulder, serving as a buffer between the irked scientists. Gene seemed very pleased to see him, and his presence made the others fall into silence.

"Betty has told me a lot about you," John said, giving Mulder a sidelong glance. "She holds you in high regard. I told her I would send you her way, if we survive this trip."

Mulder winced internally. Betty Olsen was his biggest fan, and the whole reason he had come out here in the first place. She had told Gene about him. "How do you know Betty?" he wondered. He had seen pictures of the woman behind the emails – a middle-aged, muscular bar owner with way too much free time – and he couldn't draw a parallel between their faces.

"She was my friend in childhood. She lived beside the reservation."

He didn't elaborate, and Mulder sensed he was reluctant to say more. He looked at Russell instead. "So are you a biologist, like Dr. Foster?"

Russell brightened at the interaction. "I'm a trained veterinarian and ecologist. I'm actually here on a research project. I was located a bit more central, keeping tabs on the black bear population as we come into spring, but when Gene called I had to get in on this. I think one of my adult male bears might have taken up residence in that cave."

"It's not a bear," the woman said. She had her own backpack, and she threw on a sun hat as she spoke. "If anything it's a cougar."

"There are no cougars in Kentucky," Russell argued.

"He's right," Gene cut in. "There are no confirmed big cat residents in this state. Occasionally they pass through but they rarely stay. Perhaps that could be your next topic of study, Russell."

Silence.

"So what do you think of my van, Mulder?" Gene asked, waving one hand around while he kept the other on the wheel. He indicated some of the machinery up front. "It utilizes cutting edge artificial intelligence to record data for specific environments. It can predict migration patterns and droughts, and it monitors local species for changes in their everyday lives. Last year I installed a radar system to track bugs as small as fleas. I'm still working on detecting microbes with it."

"Why would you need something like that?" Mulder wondered.

"It may not sound interesting to you, but this type of data is sought after these days. People like to know what effect they are having on the environment. It cuts down on the man power needed to measure such effects." He made a face. "Also, it's very fun to play with. It can catch a kid playing hooky three streets away."

Their last stop was to pick up the ranger, who was ironically named Marshall Ellis. He was a gruff man in khaki pants with a tan as deep as a leather handbag. He took the front seat beside Gene and gave directions to an abandoned parking lot. He hopped out and severed the rusted chain blocking a back area and Gene took them down a rocky path that reminded Mulder of a boat tossing on the waves. When they finally stopped, they were face-to-face with a patch of trees. The road ended abruptly, with a few signs nailed around stating that this area was known for pitfalls.

Mulder climbed out behind John, taking a few gulps of fresh air to keep himself from getting nauseous. He hadn't expected such an unpleasant ride. The others filed out and grabbed their bags from the back, loading up for the hike. Mulder joined Gene and Marshall in the front.

"Morning," the ranger greeted him. He seemed friendly enough. He shook Mulder's hand. "I'm Marshall Ellis. I heard you would be joining us."

"Fox Mulder," Mulder responded immediately.

"Do you have any experience with caves, Mr. Mulder?"

"You can call me Mulder, and no. You can consider me a novice."

"Put your listening ears on, then," the ranger said. He leaned over to look at the others, who had formed a little cluster alongside the van. "Gather up, guys." When they were all together, the ranger pointed back to the woods, his voice falling from friendly to dead serious. "Temperature in the cave today should be around fifty degrees. I see you all brought your long sleeves and pants. We're already off to a good start. Gene here is gonna fit you with an emergency beacon. It hooks onto your backpack strap. If you fall, get lost, or find yourself in danger, twist the top of mash the button. Everyone will start beeping when that happens. Let's do a dry run."

Gene passed out the little clips, which resembled car air fresheners, and demonstrated how to get the cap off. When he hit the button, all of them started blinking a vibrant red color and beeping urgently, like bombs that were ready to go off. He put the cap back on to reset them.

"Okay, let's get moving. It's a five mile hike from here, and then a pretty slow descent once we make it to the caves. We got clear skies ahead."

The hike began in a tight cluster, but slowly the group branched out and walked yards apart, coming through different parts of the foliage as they moved toward the caves. Pierce and Helena walked together, with John walking ahead a few yards, while Mulder ended up way in the front with the ranger. Both of them took long strides and set a quick pace.

"So your name is Ranger Marshall?" Mulder asked after twenty minutes of silence.

Marshall snorted. "Gee, haven't heard that one before."

"I couldn't help myself."

"So what are you doing out here?" Marshall asked him, glancing over. "You don't seem too interested in the science. I heard you came all the way from Virginia."

"Gene contacted me. He thinks whatever is happening here is… in my ballpark."

"You know we're coming up on 48 hours for our ranger going missing. I was in that group. Searched for hours before the rain started up."

"Would rain be a problem?"

"No, no, the caves won't flood or anything like that, but when it rains a lot the river speeds up and it becomes a little dangerous. You know, slippery slopes, narrow passages. It's easy to get pulled in by the water and pushed up against the rock long enough to drown."

Mulder was trying not to think about what Deloris had said to him about her visions, but the outcast bead drowning below the others in her scarf came to mind. He swallowed and changed the subject, pushing her warning away. "Gene said the missing ranger was your friend, but I thought the rangers agreed with the press release? Just tourists being tourists?"

"Sal is my best friend. We signed up for this job together about fifteen years ago. He can walk those tunnels blind – there's no way he got lost or fell into a chasm. I think there's something down there, no joke, and I gotta find Sal before it finds him."

Mulder nodded. Gene was running around the forest with a certain glee about him – it reminded Mulder of when he'd first joined the FBI, how excited everything had made him. In reality it had been the adventure, the unpredictable circumstances, and the thrill of the chase that had drawn him in. Gene seemed to feel the same draw. He looked at everything like he was seeing it for the first time.

It was a good walk on level ground, but by the time they got to the flimsy orange fences Mulder was feeling the strain of his lack of sleep. It was almost like he'd been running all night, like his mind had never shut off. His exhaustion took the backseat when the group stopped, and his sense of adventure was renewed.

He stepped up to the edge of the orange fence, gazing down into an open cave. He could see through a few levels thanks to the brilliant sunlight, but the shadows were much blacker than he had expected. It was pitch dark in most parts. He could feel cool air rising up from within and everything looked slippery and unstable.

"It's around this way. Be careful of the edge," Marshall directed him, appraising his expression. "Are you afraid of small spaces, Mulder?"

Mulder swallowed. "Usually, no, but…"

"But what? Don't tell me you're afraid of the dark, with all of that ghost talk," Gene teased.

"I'm not afraid of the dark," he responded. He walked beside Gene along the drop off, keeping a safe distance between himself and the hungry darkness. "I guess I'm still spooked from that journal."

"Did you finish it?"

"No, I think I passed out about halfway through it. I have it downloaded – the tablet's in my backpack."

Marshall stopped suddenly at the mouth of a gaping hole in the ground. He started pointing to the others. "Okay, I'll take Russell. Gene, I want you and Mulder to pair up. Helena and John, you're a pair. Treat this like kindergarten, guys. You don't go anywhere without your buddy, not even to use the bathroom. The people who went missing wandered away from their groups – we're not gonna let that happen, okay?"

One by one they stepped to the edge, where a narrow path of rocks led down into the blackness. Each of them wore a headlamp that blinded whoever they were looking at, but it came in handy when they began the descent. Mulder was the last to come down the slope, gritting his teeth as his boots slipped down the mud and pebbles rolled ahead of him. He dug his fingers into everything he could reach, slowing himself until he felt solid rock under him.

Gene appeared at his side, his hand on his shoulder, and they looked out into the chamber. It was small, like the opening, and made of several chiseled layers of black rock. Mulder could see tunnels leading in different directions, some of them too small for squirrels to use, and some big enough for bears to lumber through. He could hear water running somewhere, and a distinct humming noise, but the sounds were muffled and he couldn't identify the source.

Marshall led them in a tight line along a narrow shelf of rock. Mulder had to duck uncomfortably to keep from ramming his forehead into the rocks jutting from the ceiling. Gene was behind him, his hand on his backpack, and he was holding onto Russell, who was directly behind their guide. Helena and John formed the caboose.

For a while they walked through darkness, half-bent under a low ceiling, avoiding sharp edges, tripping over the ridiculously uneven ground, and switching passageways. Mulder stumbled often, finding his body type incompatible with this kind of exploration. His limbs were too long, his shoulders too wide – dodging one thing often led him to crash into something else. Gene was small enough to avoid almost everything by simply walking carefully, and the other scientists were also smaller than Mulder, particularly Helena, who could've passed for a mouse. Only the ranger felt his pain, but he was so accustomed to the caves that despite being lanky he traversed them like he had been raised in them.

When the passages finally opened up, it was a cause for celebration. Six dim headlamps scanned a vast cavern. Mulder could barely make out the other side, and even then he was sure what he was looking at was a rock formation and not a cave wall. The group stood on a shelf of rock overlooking a hole in the Earth – unable to see the bottom, the sides, or the roof. Their lights were too weak to penetrate the blackness. He only knew it was massive because of the airflow, and the echo that their breathing produced.

He was staring out into a vast unknown, and it genuinely terrified and excited him.

"We're going down from here," Marshall whispered, dropping to his bottom and sliding to the edge of the shelf. He felt around with his feet. "Let me find the access point."

Mulder carefully checked the ground, and then stepped up to the edge of the rock, trying to slow his racing heart. He felt a great space ahead but he couldn't understand it. It was like looking out at the sky, at the stars, but being close enough to touch them.

Gene touched his shoulder, standing a little further back then he was. His headlamp blinded him for a moment before he looked away. "Sorry. Can you step back?" he murmured. "You shouldn't stand so close to the edge."

He obliged, stepping into the wall. He banged his head on the ceiling and recoiled. "Believe me, I don't like me so close to the edge, but the walls hate me."

He could only see the glare of the scientist's light. "Fox, you were not made for this."

"I noticed."

"You're going to be black and blue before we make it out of here."

Someone shushed them, and they both turned toward the others. He could see the head of the Marshall as he disappeared over the edge, and Russell was sitting down in preparation to follow. He beckoned to them.

From the bottom, Marshall whispered. "Helena, you come after Russell. If you slip, I'll catch you."

Mulder peaked over the edge, twisting his headlamp to see the ledge they were climbing to. It was directly below them, tucked into the rock a little. Marshall was looking up at them.

"What if _I_ slip?" Mulder wondered.

Russell grimaced dramatically, and then turned and lowered himself down. Helena glanced at the others, making the same expression, and then she sat down and let her feet dangle. Mulder stooped beside her, his hand on her shoulder, and looked wearily at the ledge again.

"I'm holding onto you," he warned, getting on his belly and holding onto her backpack while she wiggled her way down the rocks. He slid as far as he could before he had to let her go, and moments later he heard her hit the ground below. "You alive?"

She laughed from somewhere in the recess of rocks. "I'm fine. I'm good. I think I broke my ass."

"John next," Marshall called up.

He watched the stocky man climb down next, marveling at his nonchalance. He treated the ledge like it was a two foot drop, rather than ten. Gene went down after him, panicking a little in the middle. Mulder held onto his backpack as well, glad when he landed safely at the bottom. It was finally his turn, and he had to admit that he was weary of the height. He had never been afraid of these things – darkness, high places, silence – but it seemed so much greater now than before.

He sat at the edge, cutting his palm on the rock because he was gripping it so hard. "Is there a manly way to scream if I fall?" he asked, glancing downward.

"Don't lean back and you'll be fine," Gene said.

"Well, now that you said it…" Mulder grumbled. He turned his body, lowering himself by his arms until his feet came into contact with the next step of rock. He started to climb down, aware of the incredible space all around him. One wrong move would cut this expedition short. He clung to the rocks, breathing in short bursts as he moved downward.

Moments later someone grabbed his legs and hauled him inward. He stumbled onto a new landing, one sloping away from the edge, and fell to his rubbery knees.

Gene helped him up, his headlamp blinding him. "Are you okay? You're shaking."

"I'm fine. Let's get this show on the road."

"It's all downhill from here," Marshall said, walking around the group and inspecting them. He stopped on Mulder, clasping his shoulder. "We're done with climbing for the day. Take it easy."

"I'm taking it easy – it's easy," Mulder gasped. He couldn't quite find his breath.

He ended up in the back of the line with Gene, guided only by the sway of his backpack. It got quiet again, and Mulder could hear water running deeper in the cave. The lower they went, the colder it became. As it was, they were shivering, and walking became a chore. Mulder turned up his headlamp so it would warm his forehead.

He had words echoing in his mind, an eloquent French script from the journal he had been reading all night. It bled from the pages and pursued him in these caves – the same caves that had brought on the terror of being haunted.

 _I feel it, even now in the open forest, with the sun beating us down. It is hidden, and far away, so far that its cold eyes should never see our faces again, but it is still watching. It is always watching._

"This tunnel was carved out by an ocean."

Gene interrupted his trance, whispering so softly that his voice could barely be heard over the sound of the group marching. He was breathing heavily, hunching down a little bit as he went, but he still managed to look excited when he turned back to Mulder. He slowed down a bit, putting three extra feet between them and the others.

"See these grooves?" he went on, running his hand along the beautiful, patterned wall. "Each one represents a different time period, when the current was going in another direction. Just a slight shift can change the whole pattern of erosion."

"Do you think we'll find a caveman frozen in the bottom?"

"Well that would certainly be a discovery," Gene chortled. He slowed a little more, panting, and ran his thumb across a rough stone pillar that interrupted the smooth cave. "And look at this. This is a salt deposit, shaped by a drip that has been going on for millions of years. Go ahead and lick it."

Mulder was glad for the opportunity to stop. He leaned over his knees. Each breath was painfully cold and thin, like the air was losing its quality the further down they went. It also tasted like rock, like he was breathing in sediment. "You lick it," he responded.

"Oh, and look over here." Gene grabbed him by the shoulder and dragged him to the other side of the tunnel, where the walls were scraped up. "This could very well be the remains of a petroglyph. Can you imagine finding an intact pictogram? It would shed some light on human evolution and dispersion. I should photograph this wall."

"Knock yourself out," Mulder said.

He waited, his eyes on the fading lights of their group. It was a long, straight tunnel, so the lights only grew dimmer, never completely vanishing. He knew that if Scully were with him, he would be anxious to return to the others, but he was not. He had his buddy, after all. Marshall only had one rule about this cave – stay with your buddy.

For several minutes, his companion went from one side of the cave to the other, taking pictures of the scratch marks, of the salt columns, and of the grooves lining the walls. Mulder followed him like a shadow, finding his own amusement in the masses of slugs hiding in every crevice.

"Look, a slug orgy," he said, pointing to one of the cracks so Gene could see it. He dragged the scientist away from his precious documentation. "Don't you want a picture of that?"

Gene leaned in, making a face, and then he snapped a quick picture of it on his phone. Mulder confiscated the phone and tried to send the picture to Scully, frowning when it refused to load.

"You do realize we're under several thousand tons of rock, right?" Gene wondered.

"It'll send when I get service again. Are you done taking pictures?"

"Yes, we should catch up with the others."

When they finally stopped for the day, his watch told him it was well into the night, but the cave told him it had been night all along. Marshall set up an artificial campfire near a smooth, curved section of the cave wall and everyone sat around it, looking weary. It gave them enough light to turn off their headlamps and move around safely for about ten feet, but after that the cave was enveloped in shadow, and there was no telling what awaited the unprepared.

He sat next to the light with Russell, who was using a variety of bandages to close the wounds on his face and shoulders. He was sure that Mulder had a concussion because he refused to join in on the conversation about cave mites. Gene sat at the edge of the light, flipping through pictures on his camera and smiling fiendishly as he captioned and timestamped them.

Marshall came over to them, crouching down. He handed him his water bottle. "Here, Mulder, you need to drink some of this. It might help with that headache."

He downed half the bottle in one breath, recoiling when the taste hit him. It was gritty, like the ranger had mixed sugar and salt into it. He held it in the light and watched the particles dance around. "Is this saltwater?"

"One part sugar and salt, three parts water."

"Why would anybody drink that?" Helena asked, coming up from air in the discussion about her favorite organisms. Her voice was grating. "You're one of those health freaks, aren't you?"

Marshall shrugged. "Keeps me from dehydrating."

It was quiet for a little while. Russell finished covering him in bandages, Helena finally stopped talking about the cave mites, and Gene cackled to himself instead of cackling at others. Mulder unfolded his sleeping bag and burrowed into it, enjoying the warmth. It was one of those subzero bags, made for arctic exploration. His companions drifted into their sleeping bags as well, falling asleep one at a time and joining the symphony of soft breathing.

He stayed awake, alone, for a while, his arms folded behind his head, gazing up at a ceiling he could not see. He wondered if dozens of pointed rocks were poised to kill him, or if the rocks were smooth up there, part of some old waterway that Gene would discover the next day.

Hours later, he heard water moving nearby.

He sat up, gazing at a massive, black river that suddenly dominated the cavern. It curved close to him, its shore almost reaching his sleeping bag. Had this been here the whole time? He must have missed it on the way in. Or perhaps they had moved the camp.

From the mouth of the river drifted an elegant, ghostly boat. It made the water glow as it passed, creating a luminescent path across the placid surface. It was occupied by hooded figures that rowed without paddles, and in the back the tallest and most menacing of them stood over the precession. His hood was so black that he seemed to have no face.

Scully was sitting sideways on the front, her bare feet hanging over the water. She was wearing that dress again, as white as fresh snow. She stared at him as the boat passed, turning to watch him as they headed for another tunnel. Her face was as pale as death, her eyes wide and questioning. She seemed afraid, but Mulder could not bring himself to speak. He just beheld her, and the phantasmal boat, as they vanished into the darkness.

He woke as the boat was swallowed by shadow. He sat up, cutting on his headlamp to reassure himself that there was no river in this cavern. Instead of going back to sleep, his took out his tablet and pulled up the story of explorer. He scrolled past the last paragraph he had been reading, skimming ahead to make sure it didn't mention that dream.

His breath caught.

 _I dreamt of her again last night, this time carted on a ferry of souls with Death looming over her. I feel that the creature is taunting me with images of her death._

Mulder shut it down, stuffing it back in his backpack. He knew that he had not read that part. He had not seen those words until just now – there was no way he could have projected them into his dreams. Whatever this thing was – poltergeist or creature – it was messing with him. He could not shut his eyes. He could not escape the cold dagger in his back.


	12. Trance

**Trance.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 19, 2010.**

Gene woke to total darkness. His heart sped at first, reacting to the unfamiliar surroundings, but a couple of chilly breaths eased his fear. He was just facing the wall. He twisted around, frowning when he realized that someone had put out the artificial campfire. The only source of light came from the other side of the room, where the eerie outline of Mulder's face could be seen in the glow of his tablet. His eyes were barely open, but he seemed to be reading.

He fumbled around for one of the tiny flashlights he had stored in his cargo pants. He used it to find his way to Mulder, stumbling over the uneven floor. "Mulder?" he whispered, crouching down to try and get his attention. "Hey, are you awake?"

Mulder glanced up, tapping the lock button on his tablet so the light faded away. Gene shined the flashlight toward him, unsure of the strange expression on his face. He seemed lost.

"What are you doing? Everyone else is still asleep."

He shrugged. His voice was croaky. "I didn't sleep." He touched the back of his head, recoiling like a child who had stroked an open wound. "I just have this headache… this pain…"

Gene ran his hands along the back of his head, but it felt completely normal. He found no signs of injury. When he drew his hands back, Mulder leaned heavily into the cave wall. "It looks fine to me," he said, taking the tablet. "I'm keeping this."

"I think I need to lay down," Mulder admitted. He yawned, rubbing his eyes with his fists. He tried to get up, but the effort died almost immediately. "Will you help me?"

Gene stood up, dragging the larger man to his feet. He helped him back to his sleeping bag, watching him curl up on his side like an exhausted child. He was asleep within minutes, breathing peacefully. Gene hovered for a moment before returning to his own sleeping bag. He kept the light nearby, occasionally shining it over Mulder to make sure he was still there.

His face slowly shifted from dreams to nightmares. His eyebrows kept drawing down, his face contorted, and a few tears slipped down into the waterproof material. He was mumbling something that Gene couldn't make out. He thought he heard the name of his significant other, Scully, but it was all mixed up with bits of French. His hands were clenching the sleeping bag, balling it up so much that Gene wondered if it would split in half.

He unlocked the tablet, curious about what Mulder had been reading, but it came up on the home screen. None of the apps were open. He had been staring at nothing.

But did he even realize it?


	13. Apex

**Apex.**

 **May 19, 2010.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

He woke with the feeling that he had been jogging through the night. Someone gave him a gentle shake, drawing him out of a blindly colorful dream and back into the dark cave. Everyone else was up already, though still tucked into their sleeping bags as they munched on a variety of snack foods. Gene was the one who had shaken him. His sleeping bag was much closer than it had been when Mulder had fallen asleep. He was watching him expectantly.

"Is it morning?" Mulder wondered.

Gene nodded, handing him half a protein bar. "Yeah. Want some?"

He nodded, wolfing it down before he had a chance to taste it. He drunk most of his water bottle. Gene was watching him cautiously.

"How do you feel?" he asked.

"Tired," Mulder admitted, rubbing his neck and looking up. "I had weird dreams. It feels like I was running around all night. Is it wet in here? I feel like I got dripped on."

"You don't remember getting up?"

He frowned. "What? No."

"You got up and you were using your tablet last night, right over there," Gene motioned to the other wall. "You said your head hurt."

Mulder stared at the spot, but he could draw no memory of it. He only remembered the dream about the river, and finding the passage in the journal. He had gone to sleep after that, hadn't he? It was disturbing to think he had been doing something without knowing.

"I must have been dreaming."

His companion remained cautious about it, insisting that he had seriously injured himself the day before, but Mulder convinced him to let it go. He felt fine now, only a little tired from his restless dreams. Whatever had come over him had passed already.

Soon they were moving again, forming a train with Mulder and Gene in the middle – the others were not amused by their lagging the day before. Only a few hours passed before they had to stop, because Mulder chanced a look back at Gene and the scientist had frozen, horrified, in his tracks. Mulder had a small laceration on his forehead, sending a stream of blood down his face. Russell hastily repaired it, muttering about specializing in animals, not people, while Marshall tried to teach him to duck.

"I think, at this point, I'm just marking my territory," Mulder said.

"I think you should just step over the debris on the floor instead of walking on top of it," Marshall responded. "Give those long legs some use."

He smirked. "Where's the fun in that?"

"Please try to avoid head-butting anything else," Helena said. "You look ridiculous. Your wife is going to think we bullied you."

"I'm not doing it on purpose."

Marshall was more amused than anything, patting Mulder on the back like he was trying to wean him off of his training wheels. "How about you join me in the front? Just mimic me and you should avoid most of the hanging crap." He looked over the others. "We're about to enter the area those people went missing from. Everybody stick close, hands on backpacks and hug the wall on the left side. Soon there won't be a right side."

His words were foreboding. Mulder followed his every movement, starting to feel claustrophobic as the walls leaned in on them. Suddenly the tunnel was not a tunnel, but a narrow passageway where they could barely put two feet side-by-side. The right side of the cave dropped away and the sound of running water became overwhelming. He felt it splashing up on his legs, but he didn't dare look down. He walked as straight as he could, taking baby penguin steps on the jagged ground.

"We're almost to the other side," Marshall said over the roar of the water. "Keep it up."

When the cavern finally widened out, Mulder released the breath he had been holding. His damp legs felt like they were set in ice. He could finally let go of the ranger's backpack, easing the sharp pain in his shoulders. He joined the others against a wall.

"So why didn't we take an easier route?" he asked.

"You know, the cave-in," Marshall responded simply.

"There was a cave-in?"

"It's why they shut the cave down for tourists," Gene cut in. "One of the easier routes is under tons of rubble now. It happened around the same time Sal went missing."

"We heard it happen," Marshall said, continuing the story. "We were down here, looking for one of those missing tourists, when the entrance came down. We were headed back to help when Sal disappeared. We were in the middle of a conversation. It was the damndest thing."

"Are cave-ins unusual?" Mulder said.

"Well, yeah," Marshall answered. "Tours are done in the most stable parts of the caves. The last cave-in was in the twenties. Those rocks have been standing for thousands of years and would probably stay that way for thousands more."

"So why didn't they?"

"Erosion is what they're saying."

"What are you saying?"

"It was the creature," Gene cut in, looking hard at Mulder. He still had the same liveliness he'd had when they'd met, but he seemed to have the same hidden exhaustion in his face that Mulder had. "It must have crashed into one of the pillars. The agent shot at it, right?"

"I heard gunshots, yeah," Marshall responded. "It happened just like the others, Gene. He was gone all of the sudden, and we started looking for him, calling out for him, and suddenly we could hear him screaming, and that soft moaning sound. He must have unloaded his whole clip after that, but we never found the gun, or any sign of him."

"That rules out the clumsy tourist theory," Mulder said.

"That could still be the case," Helena asserted.

"Oh yeah? Did he think his gun was gonna turn into a grappling hook?"

She smirked. "He could have been alerting them to his location."

"His location," Marshall huffed.

"What? He was a trained ranger. If he thought he was going to end up somewhere difficult to locate he would've used whatever he could to make noise."

"Look, you seem like a smart person," the ranger said, leaning over to look her in the eye, "And I respect your logic, I really do, but those people didn't slip and fall and misplace themselves." He shot a glance at Russell, "And it wasn't a cougar, or a bear." He looked at Gene. "I think his theory is the best we've got so far. So maybe it got shot and caused the cave-in."

"Maybe it knew we would have to come another way," Mulder added.

He was all over that idea. Perhaps this creature – if it was some sort of creature – was much smarter than they gave it credit for. If it had survived for thousands of years, as Gene proposed, it would have sharp survival skills. It had avoided humans, and preyed upon them. Perhaps it was picking up on human behavior. Perhaps it was channeling them, guiding them like cattle to the slaughter.

Marshall looked at him incredulously. "What do you mean, it _knew_?"

"It's just a theory I'm working on, forget about it." He popped a sunflower seed into his mouth and motioned ahead. "So we going or what?"

Marshall looked at him for a little while before he finally moved on. He seemed to want to question him further, but he let it go. In this part of the cave there was space to spread out, and much like in the forest they split into groups and walked in a cluster, adopting a slow, steady pace.

He ended up walking beside Gene again, using his flashlight to illuminate the ground while he walked. He measured the bumps with his peripheral vision, because his neck was beginning to ache from looking down. He kept an eye on his companion. Gene didn't seem to be tiring at all, and the two of them were the only ones not dragging their feet. Lack of sleep was starting to make him euphoric, giving him bursts of energy when he should have been drooling.

"So what is this theory?" Gene asked.

Mulder shrugged, spitting out his seed. He offered Gene the bag, but he turned it down. "I don't want to jump the gun. I just had a thought about what this might be."

"So you're abandoning the ghost thing?"

"I'm not abandoning it, I'm just putting it on the back burner."

"You agree with me about the creature?"

"I believe… that there could be a creature," he murmured, his low voice carrying despite his efforts to keep the conversation between them. He noticed the others' voices die down. "… There could be a creature, and if there were such a creature, it would be, potentially, thousands of years old. With that amount of time and isolation such a creature would be a master of its own environment, a true apex predator with every inch of this place as its territory. If such a thing existed it would have adapted to its environment to such a degree that it could hunt human beings, the apex predators of the surface."

Gene was listening intently, nodding to each point.

"But there's a hitch," Mulder said. "You think the creature caused the cave-in, but why would it destroy its own home and, subsequently, its source of food?"

Gene was prepared for this. "Perhaps the tour groups took another route that made victims more accessible. Marshall, we're visiting a location only visited by the longest tours, right?"

Marshall looked up. "Ten hours or more."

"So not a lot of people would have come into its hunting ground. That's why there aren't more victims. Maybe it finally realized how to get its prey into a more favorable position."

"Like this one?" Mulder asked.

Gene looked around, his headlamp moving over the cave walls. His voice dropped a little. "Yeah, like this one. Big cavern, lots of shadows to hide in. Our scent trail must be very clear."

"Okay, I vote that they both shut their mouths," Helena said from the front.

Mulder popped a few more sunflower seeds, shrugging. "It's just a theory. It's not quite there yet. Maybe it just got shot and ran into the pillar by mistake."

"Maybe there is no 'it,'" Helena responded coldly.

"That, too," Mulder said, glancing at Gene. "Tough crowd."

He nodded. "Welcome to the world of cryptozoology."

It wasn't long before they came upon the chamber in question. Mulder spun around to get a look at it, unimpressed by its rugged walls and honeycomb shape. Two passages led out of it, and along the side a porous wall of rock showed running water. Just on the other side the river was flowing ferociously, throwing water through the holes and encouraging lichen to grow on the cave floor.

"Fourteen of them went missing in this chamber, right?" Mulder asked.

Marshall nodded, pointing to one of the tunnels. "Tour groups come in through there, take a few pictures of the river through the holes, and then move on through there," his finger moved to the other tunnel. "Nobody quite knows how the people vanish… it's like they're all standing here, in a normal tour, taking pictures and chatting, and then there's one less person."

"Headlamps off," Gene said. He was pulling the campfire from his bag and setting it up near the middle of the room. When everything was dark, the light in Gene's hands popped on and illuminated the whole area.

"I guess we're sleeping here," Marshall said, setting his backpack down. He pulled out several retractable coils of wire and gave everyone their own. "If you want to explore, hook that to your belt loop and hook the other end to this stake." He pounded a metal stake into the ground. "I know it will get a little frustrating, but this is the easiest way to find home base again. We don't want anyone to get lost – I think there's been enough of that."

Mulder unrolled his sleeping bag, kicked off his shoes, and sat down, digging through his backpack for something to munch on. He felt like all of the nutrients he had absorbed from the protein bar that morning had bled out through his forehead. He was joined by Gene, who sat on the other side of the artificial campfire. They traded portions of their snacks, adding a little variety, and ate in silence. The others did the same, except for Helena, who became fascinated with the tiny crevices of lichen. She combed through them for bugs.

"What do you say we do a little exploring after we eat?" he said to Gene. "I want to get a better look at that river. If your creature does exist, that would be a good source of transportation."

"Exactly what I was thinking."


	14. Ectoplasm

**Ectoplasm.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 20, 2010.**

He ate what he could, but his stomach was twisting into anticipatory knots. He stood by the porous stone that showed through to the river, running his fingers over the lichen hanging from every hole. When he shined his light through, he caught the glisten of water, and the rugged shore, but it was only a taste of what was flowing beyond.

Gene came over after an hour, stretching out his back and groaning. "Ready?" he wondered. He fastened one of the wires to his belt, and Mulder saw that he was already attached to the central stake. Gene handed him another wire attached to it, cocking an eyebrow.

"Safety first," he commented, latching it onto his belt loop and heading for the distant exit to the chamber. He took the first left he could find, squeezing through a narrow opening and rolling out into the open. Gene followed him, getting caught on one of the rocks in the opening. He yanked and maneuvered it while Mulder went on ahead.

He couldn't help himself from walking closer to the river, despite the danger it presented. It ran quickly between two raised shorelines of smooth rock and mud. He had to hold onto boulders as he went to avoid slipping all the way down into the water.

It was gorgeous, to say the least. When his headlamp ran over it the water sprayed all kinds of colors onto the cave ceiling, and he saw the bodies of fish turning silver beneath the rush. He could barely see the other shore, but he felt more passageways leading out of this area, and on into the darkness. It was a sight to behold, ferociously powerful, swift, and perpetually dark. He wondered about the creatures who inhabited those water, about their fluorescence, about the monster he thought might be running rampant in this subterranean world.

Gene finally freed herself and came to join him, but he went around the other side of his boulder. Before he could speak to him, or comment on the majesty of this place, he heard his boots scuff on the rock and his wire jerked violently forward.

His heart dropped into his stomach.

"Gene?" He hissed, climbing around the boulder and finding him sitting just inside the rush of water, facing away from it, dangling by his belt loop. His wire was caught on one of the rocks and it held him on the surface, keeping the water from taking him away.

He was groping at the rocks, and when Mulder's light fell on him he made contact with one and started pulling himself toward the shore. His wire was slipping from its place.

"No, stay there, let me get you," he said, continuing down toward him, digging his hands into any crevices he could to avoid getting into the same situation. He propped his foot on one of the shore rocks and turned his body sideways, reaching out. "Gene! Grab my hand!"

Gene gasped, pulling his head above the surface. "I can't see it."

He tipped his head down so his headlamp could guide his companion. Gene's hand slipped from his a few times before he got a good grip on his wrist. He yanked him onto the rocks, grabbing his shoulder when he could, and then the back of his pants to haul him back behind him, where the dry rocks were. He freed Gene's wire and threw it back in that direction.

He climbed back up, soaked from the spray of the river, and laid on his back beside Gene.

"Are you hurt?" he asked.

Gene ran his hands over his hair, gasping. "Just my pride."

"I won't tell anybody."

"I was so afraid you were gonna fall, I guess I forgot to watch my step," he admitted.

Mulder sat up, yanking off his headlamp to use it as a flashlight. He scanned the shore, finding the pile of gunk Gene had slipped in. His boot print was very visible. "Yeah… what is that?" He leaned closer, squinting, but he couldn't distinguish it from the surrounding rocks. It just looked like shadowy gunk from here. "I'm gonna get a sample of that. Give me a tissue or something."

Gene dug through his bag, handing him a Q-tip. "Don't get too close to the edge."

He slid over on his bottom, digging the Q-tip into the pile. He withdrew it, grimacing at the long line of goo that clung to the instrument. He passed it back to Gene. "Do you know what that is?"

Gene turned it around, making a face. "I know what it smells like."

"Sharp, like burning plastic." Mulder grinned, twisting it around. "It looks a lot like ectoplasm to me." He had encountered ectoplasm three times in his life, and each time it had this pungent odor like Barbie dolls melting in the drier. It was always stringy, goopy, and corrosive.

"I can't believe you just used that word in a sentence."

"What? Ectoplasm is a known phenomenon. When spirits interact with the corporeal world, they have to use ectoplasm to do it. It's like… battery juice. It's the only thing they leave behind, aside from cold spots and blurry photographs."

"It may have come from the creature," Gene said, frowning.

"I'm telling you, I know what this stuff is."

Gene got to his feet, wobbling a little as he walked back toward the group. "Ectoplasm," he scoffed.

Mulder smiled and followed him, amused by his dislike for that word. He always got strange looks when he used it, but it had become a normal thing to him. He imagined most people were not accustomed to hearing it – like hearing werewolf or vampire in serious conversation.

In the main chamber, only Russell remained. Wires stretched out in different directions, occasionally tightening up or loosening as the others explored. Gene handed the Q-tip to Russell and Mulder hung nearby, pulling his bag of sunflower seeds from his pocket and snacking on them. Now that he was standing still, the back of his head began to throb.

"We found it by the river in a pile, at least three pounds of it," Gene told Russell, frowning at the Q-tip he had handed him. He took a step back, shooting a glance at Mulder, as if daring him to object. "It looks like animal waste to me."

"There are no _known_ animals in this cave system large enough to produce this kind of waste. I've never actually seen… this particular type. It has some of the properties of reptilian waste but…"

"But what?" Mulder prompted.

"I don't know why it would be so stretchy. It's almost like this is an undigested material. Can you show me where you found this?"

"I can… point it out for you," Gene volunteered, glancing at Mulder. "You look pale. You should try to get some sleep."

He shrugged. "Stay away from the shore."

Gene smirked, tugging on his wire. "You should hook up, Russell. This thing saved my life."

"Oh, yes, of course."

Mulder left them, going through his pack and spreading the sleeping bag near the artificial campfire. He laid across it, kicking his muddy boots off and folding both hands behind his head. He felt like he hadn't slept in days, though he was sure he had been sleeping last night. Gene said he was awake, toying with his tablet, but his memory failed him.

He stared at the ceiling, listening to the water, and to a soft conversation between Gene and Russell, until his mind managed to wander away.

He saw something in the shadows, watching him, waiting for him to come after it. He found himself in the caves, wandering in the darkness, somehow finding his way despite having no light to guide his feet. He felt the creature drawing near, he felt the rumbling in the ground, and he felt its soft growling in his gut.

He walked toward it, thoughtless, and waited for it to consume him.


	15. Vanished

**Vanished.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 20, 2010.**

"I can say with certainty that this is excrement, mixed with some sort of inorganic matter. It looks like the webbing of a backpack or maybe the remains of an unraveled shoelace."

They were sitting back-to-back on one of the larger boulders along the shore of the river, shining two flashlights over the pile of gunk that had almost killed Gene. It was streaked from where he had stepped in it, and the print of his boot revealed synthetic material under the black goo. Russell was leaning heavily toward it, unwilling to get closer to the shore, but apparently fascinated by it. He moved his fingers around inside, pulling out long strings and laying them out in front of them. Gene could only hear him because he was inches away from his ear, but if they had been more than a few feet apart, the river would have dominated the conversation.

"I'm cautious to assign it to any one species, but I have a feeling this is bat guano," Russell went on, raising his voice over the squalling of the water. He wiped his hands off on his shorts. "On the safe side, this could be a harmless discovery. Bats account for twenty-five percent of the entire mammal population on this planet."

"What about the unsafe side?"

"It could be evidence of not a dozen small mammals, but of one dazzlingly large reptile."

"There is no such reptile," Gene responded, delighted. "That we know of."

Russell smiled slightly. "I suppose it wouldn't hurt to take a look around, to see if we can find any other signs of bats living in this part of the cave. It wouldn't be so outrageous."

With that, they separated. Gene stayed religiously on the dry rocks, moving slowly and checking every path for signs of the excrement. He also scanned the ceiling, sometimes flinching when he found himself under a layer of sharp stalactites. He could see Russell moving around on the other side of the river chamber, his light bobbing around the rocks, but he could only hear the water roaring. He imagined that he was there for hours searching and sifting, trying to pick out signs of the people who had gone missing, or evidence of the monster that ruled these caves.

Russell came over to him when he finished investigating his end of the cavern. He followed Gene patiently for a bit, providing him with observations, and then they both started back toward the camp, their wires tugging them along.

He found Helena and John splayed out on top of their sleeping bags, looking exhausted as they munched on their dinner. Russell came in behind him and unhooked his wire, letting it snap into the middle hook. Marshall was sitting in one of the exits, nibbling on something while he picked mud from his fingernails. Everyone looked up at them.

Every hair on the back of his neck stood up.

"Where is Fox?"

Helena shrugged. "He was gone when I got back."

"I haven't seen him – he didn't hook himself up," Marshall said. He gazed down the tunnel. "I guess he'll find his own way back to us."

"I'm going to look for him," Gene said, his pulse racing. He regretted escorting Russell to the river, and spending so much time searching for a way to prove their crazy theory. It meant nothing if he lost one of his companions in this cave.

He took a spotlight from his bag and navigated the tunnels much like a baby deer trying to walk through a thorny patch of wilderness. He was slow and cautious, without a guide in the darkness, but the wire constantly tugging on his pants gave him comfort. At least he would be able to get back. He walked where he could, but he kept finding drop-offs and cliffs. He couldn't imagine Mulder losing his nerve in the face of a rickety old scaffolding, so he climbed what he could, and whispered his name into every crevice.

He found his way back to the river chamber, only this time he was further up, overlooking the water. His wire was nearly at its end, the little bundle inside running out of give, so he had to stop there. He stayed back, cautious of the edge, until he ran his flashlight over it and found his companion standing to the left, at the entrance to another tunnel.

He looked bewildered.

"Fox?" Gene called.

He jumped a little at the sound, staring at him. "I saw it, Gene."

Gene frowned. "Saw what? Come over here, get away from the edge."

"I saw the creature," he explained, coming toward him. He spoke wistfully, looking at the river. "I think I know what it is. Do you know the way back?"

"I have a wire, like you're supposed to have," Gene snapped, grabbing his arm and directing him down the path he had taken. He recoiled at the coldness of his skin. He was soaking wet and freezing. "Fox… were you in the river?"

"I saw it in the water. I followed it here. You should have seen it, Gene."

He trailed off, and Gene tried to pull him back through the tunnel. He didn't budge. "We have to get you back. You'll freeze like this. You can tell me all about it later, okay?"

"But it was a ghost, Gene!"

Gene felt a chill in his spine. Mulder stumbled away from him, toward the edge.

"No, wait!" Gene said, holding up a hand. It was all he could do. When he tried to go toward him, Mulder moved a little further away. "What are you doing? Come back here!"

"I'm going to find it," Mulder announced. He backpedaled, now dangerously close to the drop off.

"Fox!"

He was gone in a flash. He stepped backward off of the edge, and within seconds Gene heard him land in the water. He looked desperately into the current, shining his light over it, but he only got a glimpse of an arm flailing as the water whisked him away. If the fall knocked him unconscious he would drown. If by some miracle he survived the water, he would encounter the ghost he had described, and he would be killed.

Gene could not let that happen.


	16. Encounter

**Encounter.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 20, 2010.**

Mulder emerged from the swell sputtering, clawing at the shore. He dragged himself onto the cold boulders, panting as all of his heat left his body. He had no idea where he was, or how he had gotten into the river, but it was evident that this was not a dream. He was really here. He was really lying in the dark, in a mysterious cavern, with only the sound of the river in his ears. Where were the others? How far had the water carried him? How much longer could he survive at this temperature?

He dragged himself further along the rock, recoiling when his head struck a wall. He tried to sit up, but he got nauseous and sunk back down, taking short, shallow breaths. He felt like he had water caught in his throat. He was starting to feel lightheaded.

"I give him another thirty seconds."

Mulder looked up at the familiar voice, managing a slight smile at the three men sitting nearby. Langly had spoken, and when he saw Mulder looking at him, he smiled warmly.

"Come on, he has more fight than that," Frohike objected. He was the closest to Mulder. For some reason he was knitting a sweater, but failing miserably at it. "Isn't that right? Slow, deep breaths, buddy. Didn't you learn anything from Scully?"

Mulder adjusted his breathing, finding a gentler pace. His head cleared a little. "What are… you guys doing here?" he asked. His voice was rough and shaky.

"Keeping you company," Byers responded. He was eating a yogurt cup. He looked around the cave, making faces at the dark corners. "Really, you should think about redecorating. I know a great interior designer. She's dead, too, but her style was already ahead of its time."

"What do you wanna bet this exact scene is in that journal?" Frohike said. He messed up a line in his sweater and tossed it behind him, dusting off his hands. "God, I hate knitting. Why do I keep doing that to myself?" He refocused on Mulder, smiling thoughtfully. "So what do you say? Do you think this is freaky parallel number three? It would explain a lot."

"Explain what?" Mulder asked.

"Firstly, why you're talking to dead people, and secondly, why you keep sleep walking. Obviously you're dealing with an earthbound spirit forced to relive its own violent demise." Langly finished his yogurt and scraped the bottom of the cup, speaking nonchalantly. "If you keep falling for it, you're going to meet the same fate, and it probably wasn't pretty."

"Well you did say 'violent demise,'" Frohike pointed out.

"We should look at this reasonably," Byers said. He leaned in, his voice lowering. "You have to break free of its spell. You're obviously being controlled."

"Or he's just crazy," Frohike countered. "I mean, he is talking to us."

"I get lonely," Langly added.

"Something took those people," Mulder said, finally gathering the strength to sit up. He coughed, rubbing the back of his head. It ached like someone had hit him with a baseball bat. "Something took those people from that cavern, and it wasn't an animal. I'm not crazy."

"If that's the case, then something is controlling you," Byers reasoned.

"But why bring me here?" Mulder asked. He looked around, unable to see anything beyond his three deceased companions. He could discern nothing significant about this cavern. "Why bring me here instead of just killing me? Is this where it brought the others?"

Suddenly the Lone Gunmen were gone, and the chamber was glowing. It came from the river, where a shape was dancing around. She rose slowly, with water clinging to a torn white dress, and she walked onto the shore. Her whole body radiated like the moon. Her eyes were the pale blue of a drowning victim. Her skin was perfect, unblemished despite the rough surface she walked on. She seemed to drift through the air, never truly in one place at a time.

Beholding her mesmerized him. He could not look away.

"You…" he whispered. Her face seemed distantly familiar. "You're the ghost?"

She stared at him, sinking into a crouch. She put her hand on his cheek, giving him a sensation like sunlight touching his skin, and tilted his head up. Her expression was everything and nothing – a sense of wonder, of love, of confusion. She seemed just as lost as he was.

"I can help you," he said, fighting through the haze in his mind.

He was burdened with a terrible sense of loss, of loneliness, of regret, and the world seemed to be drifting away. He had never felt so isolated. He felt open air all around him, endless caverns and tunnels, but all of that space could not soothe the wanderlust in his heart. He felt the same heartbreak he had when he lost Scully the first time, when he thought he might never see her again. He felt the same confusion he had when his sister was taken, and when his parents died.

It brought him back to childhood, to the raw feeling of grief that made it hard to breathe. It was the worst feeling in the world, the worst loneliness he could imagine.

And then it was gone.

She was still watching him, and he was staring back at her, tears dropping down his face. He realized what was happening all at once. It became perfectly clear in one moment.

"You're… grieving," he whispered.

Her eyes widened for a split second, and then she was gone.

Lights erupted from a tunnel behind him. He heard Gene calling his name. He stayed where he was, slumped on his knees, gazing ahead with tears in his eyes as he contemplated what he had just experienced. His group emerged and surrounded him.

"Mulder? Are you injured?"

He blinked, sniffling, and shook his head. "I-I don't think so."

"Let's get you back. We'll spend another night here, and leave after we've all rested," Marshall said. He pointed his light around the tunnel, looking unsure. "Was there someone else here? I swore I heard you talking."

"I was coughing," Mulder said, unwilling to share his experience so soon. He let the others help him up, leaning heavily on Marshall as they made their way back to the main cavern. He changed clothes and unzipped his sleeping bag, using it as a blanket. He didn't want to sleep, so he listened to the others, and avoided their curious glances.

Gene insisted on questioning him. "Do you remember what happened at all? Did you see the ghost you were chasing?"

"I… I don't know," Mulder responded.

He caught the attention of Russell, who frowned. "Gene said you jumped into the river."

"I don't remember that," Mulder admitted.

"It happened," Gene said. "You were up on the ledge above the river. You said it was a ghost, and then you jumped. You said you were going to find it."

"I don't remember," Mulder repeated.

Gene was quiet, writing rapidly in his notepad.

"She must have lost someone."

Everyone looked up, including Mulder. He wasn't sure why he had spoken, or where that sentence had come from. He recalled the ghost, trying to put an age to her face. She was definitely young. She must have gotten lost in the caves, and now she was trying to find someone to keep her company. She was feeding on their fear, intentionally or not. She might have even caused the death of Rousseau's wife, through her connection with the explorer.

"Who lost someone?" Gene asked.

Mulder shook some sand out of his hair, cringing when his head ached. "The ghost. She's grieving. She must have lose someone very close to her."

"Are you going to forget this conversation happened in five minutes?" Gene demanded.

Mulder went for his bag, pulling out his tablet. He flipped through the journal. "Here. Read this. Tell me if this situation sounds familiar to you." He handed it to Gene.

Gene stared at him for a moment, somewhere between angry and mystified, and started reading the passage aloud. "He stood on the edge, on the water, on the cusp of death, trembling like the cavern itself was bearing down on him. His wild eyes showed the depth of his madness, of his unsettled mind…" Gene paused, glancing up at Mulder, bewildered. He finished it without looking down. "' _I saw it, Bastien. I saw it in the water… and I followed it._ '"

They stared at each other, sharing the private horror of having lived that very scene. The others seemed uneasy, but Gene was shaken. Mulder could see the wheels turning in his head. He kept looking down at the text, mouthing it as he read, and the further he went the more it disturbed him. He finally shut the tablet off and looked away.

"Just believe me for a moment. Just suspend everything you know about science, about the existence of ghosts and supernatural creatures, and just listen to me."

Gene brought his eyes up, staring at Mulder.

"I don't know who she was, or how she died, but I think she's trapped here. Bound by something. It felt like… it felt like she was sad. She followed the people in that journal because they felt the same way – the explorer, Rousseau, lost his wife before the expedition. Bastien mentions it all the time. Both of them were devastated… they were grieving."

"The witnesses…" Gene murmured.

"I thought there was no connection between the victims, but I was wrong. They all experienced a devastating loss. Peter lost his father, his best friend, before he went missing. Sandra lost her husband to cancer years ago. The ghost picked up on that."

"Mulder…" Gene said, holding up his hand to stop Mulder from going on. He seemed to be on the edge of a breakthrough. His voice was low, as if he wanted his words to be private, but everyone was listening to him. "Mulder… We have to leave this cave. It's really getting to you."

He was crushed by that, but he did his best to keep it from showing. He was used to being thought of as the nut of the group. He leaned back, exiting the circle of wide eyes and looking instead toward the river. "Believe what you want. I saw her. I was face to face with her. She let me feel what she felt… I have to help her."

"Even if there were a ghost," Helena commented, sounding unexpectedly calm about the whole situation. "Why would you want that? It's killing people – good, innocent people."

"We don't know that they're dead."

"I'm sure she transported them all to Narnia, where they could live happily ever after," Helena responded dryly. "Come on. Be reasonable. Weeks without food or water? The vast majority of them would be dead by now, and if she _was_ keeping them somewhere, that means they all starved to death, slowly, and in agony. All of those nice, kind people you described, wasting away like abandoned animals. If that makes you empathetic toward the monster, your head is screwed up."

Mulder stared at her incredulously, considering all of the nasty things he could say in return, but the emotions of the ghost lingered and he could only feel sadness. He leaned into the cave wall, staring at the light between them. "I'm not asking for permission. I'm going to help her, whether you guys participate or not. If you want to leave, then leave. I'm staying."


	17. Intimate

**Intimate.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 20, 2010.**

Mulder sighed, tugging on the restraints that were wrapped around each wrist. He had made the mistake of pleading his case to the doctors, so all the necessary precautions had been taken. He was lucky they didn't sedate him. He had spent the last half hour trying to figure out how to get out of his bed without breaking his wrist, but the fluffy handcuffs confounded him.

"Would you stop doing that?"

He glared at Gene, who had been hovering near the window for three hours now. He was the last remaining group member, having sent the others home as soon as they arrived at the hospital. He still seemed genuinely concerned, but his concern was misguided.

"Would you take these things off of me?" Mulder asked, tugging on them again. It made the bars on the bed rattle. "I'm not crazy. I know what I saw."

"Scully will be here soon. Just stay calm until then."

"You don't know what that girl is going through," Mulder snapped.

Gene looked back at him, and for a moment Mulder thought he might be consider his words, but he turned away again. He was watching the storm outside, one hand pressed thoughtfully to the underside of his chin. "Ghosts aren't real, Fox."

"I've seen them! Millions of people have seen them!"

"Do you want me to call the nurse back in to sedate you?"

Mulder sunk into the pillows, scowling.

"Stop pouting."

"This is against the law. This is kidnapping. I demand to see a lawyer."

"Stop being dramatic. I brought you here for your own safety. If you had gone back into that cave you would have fallen to your death. You were nearly hypothermic! The doctors confirmed that you have a concussion! You're not thinking clearly."

"This is how I always think," Mulder said, pulling on the restraints again. He almost dislodged the railing, but he stopped himself. Gene looked at the rail, cocking an eyebrow, and Mulder relaxed his arms. "Just take these off. I'll stay here, I promise." Gene said nothing, only looked over into the storm, so Mulder raised his voice. "Get these things _off_!"

Gene jumped a little, but otherwise ignored him. His phone dinged in his pocket and he sent a quick response, glancing at the doorway, and then leaning over to look straight down.

And then he left the room.

"Get back here!" Mulder shouted, flexing against his restraints again. The railing started to come loose. He braced his toes against it to keep it from rattling and pulled hard, popping it out of place. It swung and clattered onto the floor, suspended by his arm. He used his other hand to free his wrist, and then unstrapped his feet, taking a moment to set the railing quietly on the bed.

It was only when he tried to stand that he realized he really did have a concussion. The room spun, he leaned forward, overcompensating for the tilting walls, and he hit the ground. He landed hard on his knees, grasping at the bed for some sense of balance.

"Mulder?"

Her voice brought the room to a full stop.

She appeared in front of him, wrapping both arms around his neck and holding onto him. She was warm, easing the chill spreading through his limbs. She whispered his name and pressed a hard kiss to his cheek before embracing him again.

"Scully… how did you get here so fast?"

"You were out for half a day," she informed him, pulling away a little. Her eyes were glimmering. She stroked his hair back, her eyes scanning his face. She pulled his bandages back a little to look at his forehead. "Oh, Mulder, I told you this would happen. What did I say before you left?"

"I'm having a hard time remembering my own middle name at the moment," he admitted.

She cupped his cheeks with both hands, seemingly trapped between irritation and relief. She helped him back into the bed, dropping the railing alongside it and eyeing the restraints doubtfully. She grabbed one and held it up for Gene, who was hovering in the doorway. "Did you put these on him? This was completely unnecessary."

"We barely got him here in the first place," Gene responded. "He wanted to go back into the cave. He would have gotten himself killed."

Scully frowned, glancing between them. "Is that true, Mulder?"

"I know what I saw," Mulder stated.

She sat beside him, her hand flat on his stomach, and fussed over his wounds. "What did you see? Was it the ghost ship? Or the poltergeist?"

"I don't appreciate your tone, and no, it was neither of those. It was a ghost."

She looked over at Gene, uncertain of his presence. "Could we talk privately?"

Gene looked suspicious, but he left anyway. Mulder imagined he had to figure out what his next move was, now that his theories were debunked. Instead of a monster, the top of the food chain in the cave system was a grieving ghost.

"How do you know it was a ghost?" Scully asked him.

He immediately appreciated her approach. She didn't outright deny that ghosts existed – she was asking for real proof that he had seen one. He had nothing to give her, but knowing that she _could_ believe, if she saw it for herself, eased his frustration.

"She came out of the water," he said, catching her hand as she tried to check his bandages again. He pressed it to his face. "She touched me, just like this, and she shared her pain with me. She's trapped down there, suffering. She's so upset, Scully."

"So she's kidnapping people?"

"You sound like Helena."

"Who?"

"It's not important. The important thing is getting back down there to free her. I have a feeling that those people are alive somewhere. She wouldn't just kill them."

"Mulder, you don't know that."

"I saw her soul, Scully," he insisted, wishing he could convey everything he had experienced in those caves. It was impossible to put into words. "She wouldn't hurt anyone – not on purpose."

"You sound like a crazy person. I hope you know that."

"I sound like a crazy person most of the time, and most of the time I'm right. You can't deny that my instincts are good. We were partners, Scully. I predicted the outcomes of so many investigations. This is my area. This is what I'm good at. You have to trust me."

"We're still partners," she corrected, smiling gently. She twisted her hand around and drew his palm up to her lips, kissing it. "And I do trust you. But I'm not letting you go back down there."

"I can help her."

"You'll get yourself killed." She pulled the covers out from under him, draping them over his chest. She put pressure on his chest when he tried to sit up. "Get some sleep. When you wake up, we'll talk about this again. You're in no condition to do anything about the ghost right now."

"So you do believe that I saw a ghost?"

"I believe that you believe you saw a ghost."

"I hate it when you do that."

"I know," she said in a whisper, reaching over to dim the lights. He scooted over and she slid in beside him, curling up against his chest. She ran her hand up and down his arm, staring up at his face. "Just close your eyes. We can talk later."

"I can't sleep," he whispered in return.

"Why?"

"Every time I close my eyes, I have nightmares… about you. It come straight out of the journal I was reading – before I even got the passages, I had the same nightmares as Rousseau. He thought it was the monster, toying with him."

"Why would the sweet ghost you described give you such awful nightmares?"

He let his eyes slide shut, yawning. "Grief can do horrible things to a mind. It can twist your interpretation, make you believe things that you intimately wish were true. Maybe she thinks she's saving people…"


	18. Rational

**Rational.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 20, 2010.**

He was dreaming again, standing on the forested edge of a meadow. Everything came in shades of gray, from the flowers to the sky above, except the girl standing in the long grass. She was glowing, her eyes a sick pale blue color, her skin a beautiful shade of beige. She had a drum attached to her hips, a primitive design, and her hair was pinned with tiny pieces of bone. She was the one he had seen in the cavern, the spirit who had shared her pain with him.

"What can I do?" he asked, though he wasn't sure if his words made any sound. He couldn't hear himself. He tried to move toward her, but she took a few steps away. He held out his hand. "It's okay. I'm not going to hurt you. I want to help."

She shook her head, and suddenly the forest was full of eyes. Mulder stumbled away from it, sensing the malice growing. It was coming for him. It surged forward in a wave, knocking him off of his feet. He felt the cold blade digging into his back again, twisting against his spine. He lost all sense of time as he lay writhing in the grass, eyes locked onto a storm gray sky. Eventually the girl appeared over him, looking down sadly, regretfully, and then backing away.

"Don't… leave me here," he said, reaching out to her. He used his other hand to plug the wound in his back. "Please… please come back." He gathered up one shout, sitting up to let it ring out at full volume. "Come back!" With that said, he collapsed, and the life drained out of him.

He woke up right where he had fallen asleep. Scully was still folded safely against his chest, Gene was resting in a chair in the corner, and nurses were passing by the door. Hours had passed. He reached toward his back, expecting to find a sore spot again, but when he touched liquid he almost jumped out of his skin. He held his hand up, watching blood slide down his fingers.

"Scully! Scully, wake up!"

She shot into a sitting position, mumbling something about killer gnats, and then her eyes settled on his hand. She grabbed it, twisting it around. "What happened? Where did that come from?"

"I think I was stabbed," Mulder said, turning on his side. She swept around the bed, ripping the covers away. Her fingers prodded the wound and he recoiled. "Well don't poke it!"

"Sorry, sorry," she gasped, banging the button on the wall. She stepped toward the door. "We need a doctor in here! We need some help in here!" She came back to the bed, balling the blankets up and pressing them against his back. "Mulder, you're gushing blood. When did this happen?"

He flashed a look at Gene, who was staring at him, horrified, and then looked back at Scully. "In my dreams. I dreamt I was being stabbed."

"I'm being serious, Mulder."

"So am I! I'm the one who's gushing!"

He was starting to feel woozy. He let his head drop to the pillow as the room filled up with doctors. He recognized some of them – the ones who had held him down to put the restraints on – but their faces were all blurring together. He caught sight of Scully backing away, her hands covered in blood, looking baffled and afraid. His heart dropped for her. And for other reasons.

"Pulse is fluctuating, blood pressure dropping," someone announced.

Suddenly the bed was moving. He was being pushed down the hallway, pursued by a mob of doctors, the scientist who had brought him here, and Scully. She was alternating between bossing the others around and reminding him that she was still there.

When the bed stopped, they started sewing him up. Someone probed the wound with a gloved finger and, for one unbearable moment, the entire team had to hold him down. It felt like rubbing salt in a burn. Scully appeared near his head, wiping his blood onto a towel. She looked anxiously between his face and the other end of the table, where someone was running a needle into his naked back. He could feel someone giving him a shot, but the anesthetic had no effect.

"It looks superficial," one of the doctors said to Scully. He kept looking at Mulder, using a cloth to dab at the blood. "This wound is only skin deep. He shouldn't be bleeding so much."

"You need to do a CT scan of his entire body to make sure there aren't any more hidden wounds."

"It wasn't hidden," Mulder objected. His voice broke off into an unmanly squeak when the needle entered his flesh again. He clenched his jaw. "I told you where it came from."

"Shut up, Mulder."

"That's not nice to say to the dying guy."

"You're not dying," she snapped, her eyes jumping into his. She looked like she wanted to slap him. "You probably won't even lose consciousness. It's under control."

"Until I fall asleep again," he commented.

She twisted her lips, not bothering to respond to that. She spent the next half hour pretending to be the boss and hovering around him, and then she pursued him to the scanner, where he developed an intense migraine. She ignored anything he said about his dreams, avoiding the topic completely when the doctors asked her how the wound had come to be. She was starting to look genuinely suspicious, and, ironically, the cops were called.

Hours later she lay beside him, making gently circles on his stomach with her index finger. It eased the knots forming in his gut and helped take his mind off of the pain in his back.

He laughed suddenly around midnight. "Ma'am, we need to have a word with you in the hall."

She smiled. "If I wanted to kill you, I wouldn't be so obvious about it."

"But did you see his fanny pack, Scully? I just need to know that you saw it."

"I saw it." She stretched out, sitting up on her elbow. "Are you sure you don't want to lie on your stomach? Your back must be sore."

"Yeah, and so is every other part of me."

She leaned over, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek. "Do you want more morphine?"

He made the decision as soon as she asked, lying effortlessly. "Actually I'm pretty hungry. Could you get me something from the cafeteria?"

She slid off the bed, pulling a twenty out of her wallet. "What are you hungry for?"

"Surprise me."

She shrugged, pausing in the doorway. One of the nurses was passing by. Scully got her attention and pointed to Mulder. "Can you please keep an eye on him? He might try to make a run for it."

He kept his nonchalant face, spinning his finger around. "I'm not making a run for it."

"I'll be back in a few minutes."

He watched her leave, gave it a dozen heartbeats for good measure, and then looked at the nurse hovering nearby. "Can you help me get to the bathroom? I'm not supposed to bend too much."

She bit her lip, smiling a little. "Nice try."

"Oh, come on, I have to pee. I'm not trying to escape. How am I going to escape from the bathroom? It's not even connected to the next room over." She gave him a weird look, and he frowned. "What? That used to be a thing. Can you just help me, please?"

Finally, she came over and put an arm under his shoulders, helping him sit up. Once he was standing, she directed him to the bathroom. It felt strange to be upright again. He had to take a break against the bathroom door, with the nurse hovering, expecting him to puke or pass out. He held up his hand to her, taking a few deep breaths to ease his stomach.

"Which one of these switches is the light?" he asked.

She leaned in to point it out, and he grabbed her, shoving her inside and slamming the door shut. He grabbed the nearest object – one of the flimsy wooden chairs – and shoved it under the door handle. She rattled the knob a few times and demanded to be let out.

"Sorry," he said, shedding his hospital gown in favor of the damp clothes he had been wearing when he was admitted. He ached all over, his back felt like it was leaking, and his head threatened to explode, but he was too focused to stop. He walked down the hallway, working hard to get the limp out of his step, and boarded the closest elevator.

He was in the lobby when he noticed the security guard looking at him funny. He was talking to someone on the phone. Mulder walked a little faster through the front doors, entering the dark parking lot. It was pouring rain, lightning whipped across the clouds, and thunder shook the ground, just like the night he had arrived in Kentucky. It was so windy that he had a hard time walking straight – he ended up stumbling into the road and almost getting nailed by a little old lady in a station wagon. He kept walking until he found the main road, and then he turned down the first alley, searching the storefronts for any business that was still open.

His eyes fell on the library, still several blocks away but clearly visible with its brightly lit sign. It was open all the time. It was probably warm inside.

By the time he got to the front doors, he was soaked to the bone. He felt nauseous, tired, and sad, still weighed down by the nightmares and the feelings the ghost had shared with him. He was desperate to help her, so desperate that he wondered, in the very back of his mind, if he was under its spell. He wasn't sure if he was behaving passionately, or insanely. Everything was hazy.

He took a beanie from the coatrack, pulling it over his bandaged head and shuffling to the back of the second floor. He got a few weird looks, but the place was mostly abandoned. He found a quiet desk to put his head down on, just to ease the throbbing for a moment.

"Excuse me?"

He stirred, turning to stare at the old woman who had spoken to him. She looked startled, like she hadn't expected him to be alive, and then she came to sit across from him.

"You look like you're having a bad night," she commented.

"You don't know the half of it, lady," he said softly, rubbing his temple. He felt like he was stuck in the middle of a pair of symbols.

She reached into her purse and produced a pill bottle, setting it in front of him. "If you have a headache, you should take some of these. They work miracles for my son."

"Oh, no thank you. I've already taken something for it."

She looked down briefly, and then she smiled. "Is there anything else I could do to help you?"

He wasn't sure if he should be creeped out or enchanted by this kindly old woman. She reminded him of his grandmother, but he was leery of strangers, and blatant kindness, in his world, was often a sign of guilt. He wasn't used to this kind of behavior.

"I'm sorry if I bothered you," she said before he had a chance to respond. She pulled a little business card from her pocket book and set it in front of him, giving him a meaningful look as she rose to leave. "You should take care of yourself. Get some help."

Once she was gone, he read over the card and laughed. She thought he was a drug addict. She had given him the number for an anonymous hotline to deal with cocaine addiction. He folded it into a lopsided bird and flicked it into the nearest trashcan. He took the time to watch it tumble between the folded pieces of paper, and then he left his quiet table to get to work.

He sat at one of the old computers, his hands hovering over the keys for the longest time before he figured out what he should type. He searched for a dozen things relating to his situation. _Ghost trapped in location. Ghost can't pass on. How to make a ghost move on._

Over and over again he got results that were completely unrelated. He tried again, changing the topic. _Paranormal experts. Clairvoyants_.

Eventually he found a blocky webpage run by a woman who claimed to be an expert in 'misguided spirits.' He skimmed the information about helping ghosts move on – a dense ritual accompanied by diagrams and ingredients – and then skipped to a simpler section. It was sort of like an exorcism, but it involved burning the bones of the deceased.

But first he had to find out who was haunting that cave.

He flipped endlessly through the history of the region, from the Native American tribes to the French explorers, to the first colonists who ventured so far west. He found articles about Rousseau and his tragic 'drowning' death, and reports of tribe rituals involving the caves, but nothing concrete about a young woman perishing within those stone walls.

"Who are you?" he whispered to himself, picturing the girl, trying to grasp the image of her. It faded a little more every time he brought it up. He gave up on finding her identity this way, changing gears completely. He found the location of the nearest Native museum.

It was nearly three in the morning when he left the library. It was still sprinkling outside and thunder still rumbled far away, but the storm had mostly passed. He was looking up as he came down the steps, wishing he could see the stars for all the clouds, when he realized that he was not alone out here. Someone was waiting for him at the bottom.

He froze halfway down, staring at her, confounded that she had arrived at precisely this moment. How had she even found him?

She had her arms crossed over her chest, a disappointed and concerned look on her face. "I thought I told you to stay put."

"I don't have to stay in the hospital against my will."

"I wasn't going to hold you down, Mulder. You need rest. You're injured."

"I don't have time," he said, come down the rest of the steps and starting down the block. He was pursued by Scully, who looked wistfully at a taxi that was waiting for her. "And before you ask, no, I'm not going back to the hospital. I have to help that girl."

"Mulder, you're acting crazy. Can you see yourself right now?"

"I'm perfectly sane. I know exactly what I'm doing."

"Oh, yeah? Then where are you going?"

"Native Peoples Museum on Fourth Street."

"It's three in the morning."

He stopped, rethinking his brilliant plan. He looked back at her. "I'm still not going back to the hospital. I have to… I have to do _something_."

"If you're so hell-bent on doing this, I'll help you, Mulder, but not right now. We can do this in the morning. Just come back with me. We don't have to go to the hospital. We can get a hotel room. I just don't want you out here alone."

He saw the honesty in her eyes. She was afraid for him, afraid he was going to reject her idea. He didn't like that he was causing her fear. He was supposed to be the one who chased it away. He looked down the sidewalk, to the glowing green sign that indicated Fourth Street, and then turned back toward her and the taxi. She smiled very slightly, holding onto his arm and leading him toward it. Every step he took felt like a betrayal to the spirit who had asked him for help.

"You let this get into your head," Scully said as she closed the door behind them. She gave the driver a hotel name, and then went on. "You have to think rationally."

Mulder sat back, enjoying the heat blasting from the vents. He felt cold again. It seeped into his muscles and thrived under his skin. "I am thinking rationally."

"Trust me when I saw that you're not. You didn't have to flee the hospital. You didn't have to lock that poor nurse in the bathroom. You didn't have to come out here in the middle of the night – and probably catch pneumonia – to get answers."

"If you see her, tell her I'm sorry."

She grumbled something that he didn't catch. He was sure it was aggressive, but it didn't matter after she wrapped her hands around his and rested her head on his shoulder. She kept looking up at his face, as if waiting for him to say something, and even when he didn't she maintained a sweet expression. Under it, he knew there was at least a month's supply of guilt-trips.

"Scully…?"

She tilted her head, sighing. "What?"

"Do you still love me?"

"Yes, you stubborn jackass. I still love you."

He laughed a little. "I deserved that."

"You deserve more than that. I'm going easy on you."

"I'm not apologizing."

She sat back a little, gazing up at him with the most familiar look on her face. "I wouldn't expect you to. Not in a million years."

He smiled, glad for her kindness.

"But it would be nice every now and then."

He smirked. "I saw that coming. I knew you couldn't leave it there."

"You snuck out of the hospital, Mulder. You attacked a nurse, snuck out of a hospital, and hung out in a library for three hours. I had no idea where you were. Do you have any idea how scared I was? How would you feel if I did that?"

He only had to think of it for a moment. "Point taken. I'm sorry. I won't do that again."

Something occurred to him as he gazed at the passing streets. "Whatever happened with Iden and Deloris? Did she come back?"

Scully glanced at him, tilting her head in a peculiar way. "Yeah. She came back. It's fine."


	19. Delirium

**Delirium.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 20, 2010.**

He awakened from a familiar nightmare. It had been playing in his head all night, since the moment he shut his eyes. He was so accustomed to seeing her lying on the floor, blood rolling away from her body, that it no longer startled him. His eyes just opened, and he stared at the wall, quietly dealing with the fear and anxiety the nightmare brought with it.

His head was resting on her stomach, both arms wrapped around her torso. She had fallen asleep with her hand draped across his back. When he sat up a little, getting a look at her tranquil face – partly to confirm that she was still alive – she stirred, groaned, and turned her head in the other direction. He smiled, carefully removing his arms and pulling the covers up to her chest. She stayed that way for just a moment before she curled up on her side.

He went to the bathroom, inspecting his beaten up face. He looked like he had gotten into a bar fight with the cave walls. His bandages were clean and white again, thanks to his overprotective partner in the other room, but he still felt soiled. He felt that he had spent the night running through that dusty forest, searching for her in that old cabin. Watching her die over and over.

While she slept, he raided the continental breakfast downstairs, hoarding food on two plastic plates and sneaking them up to their room. He set hers on the crappy little desk and went onto the balcony to eat his, hunching uncomfortably in the warm chair. It made his back ache.

He tried to drum up some of the passion he had experienced the night before, but the desperation to take action was slowly draining away from him. Perhaps Scully had been right. The ghost had gotten into his head. But she still needed help, and she would continue to hurt people, intentionally or not, until someone got her out of those caves. He had a duty to the people who had gone missing, to the family members he had spoken to. If they were still alive, he would bring them home.

But there was still the matter of getting a ghost out of a cave. He had heard about burning personal possessions of the deceased to free their spirits, of salting their bones and cremating them, but he had no way of locating her body. It could have been anywhere within those caves. The rituals he had read about the night before involved professionals waving incense around the house – something he was skeptical could really work – until the spirit could move on, but he doubted anyone would take on four hundred miles of caves to expel one wayward ghost. He was left with his own ideas. If something was troubling her on Earth, like the reason for her death, he could try to explain it to her, or bring whoever killed her to justice – metaphorically, of course.

Scully awakened and tapped on the sliding glass door, beckoning him inside. He joined her on the bed, shaking the rest of his eggs onto her plate. She was really chowing down.

"Long flight?" he wondered.

"Rough couple of days," Scully responded. She glanced at him, debating something. He laid on his side, rubbing the skin around his stab wound. It made the throbbing a little more intense, but it kept him alert. She popped his arm. "Leave it alone."

"It was the ghost."

She smirked, setting her plate down. She pulled out her phone and showed him the homepage of the museum he had been trying to visit the night before. "I looked up the hours while you were sleeping. We can go whenever you're ready."

"I'm ready now."

"How about you shave that thing off of your face first?"

He touched his cheek, and then went into the bathroom, gazing uncertainly at the beard that was starting to grow on his face. He swore it wasn't there when he checked himself earlier. When he looked back Scully was in the doorway, dangling a razor and a bottle of shave cream. "Here. I bought it while we were getting bandages yesterday."

"I didn't see you buy that."

"You were too distracted by the celebrity magazines."

"I was with you the whole time…"

She set them down on the sink, shrugging. "I don't know what to tell you, Mulder. You have a head injury. You're not seeing things clearly right now. Just shave and we'll go. Don't even think about taking a shower with that wound on your back."

He was ready in under half an hour. He came back to Scully lying on the bed, ankles crossed, looking through his tablet. She had a dark expression on her face.

"Whatever you found on that, it was Gene's."

She smiled softly. "Right. I was just looking at this journal you were reading. It's pretty dark stuff. I'm not surprised you were having nightmares."

"Not just nightmares," Mulder corrected. He took the tablet from her, stuffing it safely into the backpack in the corner. He held out his hand, helping her off of the bed. "I had the same nightmares as Rousseau before I read about them."

"There's a phenomena with dreams where you proactively replace blank faces and confusing events with things you see in real life. It's connected to déjà vu."

"That's not what happened here. I remember them all clearly."

She put her hand on his shoulder, motioning to the door. "I'm sure you do. We should get going, if you want to beat the crowds."

"Don't you think that's a little violent?"

"Shut up. Start walking."

When they got downstairs, Mulder noted that the doors to the dining room were shut. It was only a few minutes past eight according to the clock hanging over the front desk.

"Wow, they shut that down pretty fast," he mentioned.

She looked up, and then at the doors. "Shut what down?"

"The breakfast."

"Oh, that reminds me, do you want to stop and get something before we go to the museum? I'm starving."

He stopped. "What do you mean? We just ate. Eggs and bacon and stuff."

"Maybe in your dreams," she said nonchalantly, nudging his shoulder as she continued. She stood at the front door, holding it open for him. She frowned. "Come on. What's wrong?"

He stared at the doors, grasping at the memory of what had been behind them. It was slipping away from him. He followed Scully out and stopped her on the sidewalk, glancing around to make sure no one was listening in. "I didn't bring you breakfast?"

"No…" she seemed remarkably unconcerned, more like a giddy tourist. "You moped on the balcony for twenty minutes and then we left."

"Did I shave?"

She tilted her head back and forth, inspecting him. "You're stubbly, so no."

She tried to go on, but he stayed where he was. He pressed his hand to his temple, trying to gauge his temperature. "I think I'm losing my mind, Scully."

She came back to him, finally displaying the worry he expected. She grabbed his arm and guided him to the nearest bench, sitting down beside him. She turned his head toward her, looking into his eyes and frowning. "You seem fine to me. Do you feel nauseous?"

"Yeah."

"Here, sit back and take deep breaths."

He followed her orders, taking a few breaths of warm, humid Kentucky air. He spoke rapidly, trying to convey everything without being interrupted. "I thought I got you breakfast… you gave me a razor to shave… I remember it happening, Scully."

"It's the concussion," she murmured.

"I think… I think I should go back to the hospital."

"You wanted to solve this, so we're solving it," Scully insisted.

He looked at her, unable to detect the slightest hint of a joke. She was always the one suggesting medical help, and now she was ready to jump on his irresponsible bandwagon? It was miles away from her character. He shut his eyes, letting his head roll back. "What are you… talking about?"

"Just give yourself a moment to calm down."

He did as she said, sitting as still as he could for several minutes until the nausea rolled away. He felt much calmer, but he was still unsure about what was happening.

"Let's solve this, so we can go back home," Scully said, helping him off of the bench. She supported him for a moment, then let him walk on his own. She kept looking over at him, a weirdly relaxed expression clouding her face. "Do you think this museum will have a picture of your ghost? It seems kind of farfetched, but I guess that's your specialty."

Mulder went on walking, surprised when he saw the sign for the museum coming up on the right. He could have sworn it was on the other side of town. "Yeah… something like that. If I can find her face, I can try to find her name, or at least someone who might have some information on her death. Scully, I thought we were in the business district."

"We are," she responded.

"But I was downtown yesterday, and the museum was near the library."

"You must have been mistaken." She turned down the little walkway and headed for the front door, leaving him there. She opened it for an older couple, glancing over the packed parking lots on either side, and then she beckoned him. "Come on. We're losing daylight."

She disappeared inside, and Mulder stayed where he was, staring after her. He couldn't quite grasp the logical parts of his brain. He was trying to jam the puzzle pieces together, but none of them matched. "I must have been mistaken," he decided at last, looking behind him. The roads were empty. It barely registered. "I must have… mistaken."

Inside, thousands of years of Native American history covered the walls. It ran like a mosaic from the right side of the entrance, through every hallway, until it came to modern times on the left side of the entrance. He followed it from the moment he saw it, immediately taken by the hand painted faces and elegant script, translated carefully into native languages at the bottom. Scully followed him, often stopping to prompt him about the ghost. Every time she found an image of a young girl, she asked him if it was the girl he had seen, and every time he found an unfamiliar face.

He was following the timeline when he crashed into one of the museum employees. When he looked up, he was surprised to see a face that he knew.

"John?"

"Hello, Fox," John said. He pointed out the timeline. "Were you actually reading this whole thing? I think it takes a lot of liberties with our history."

"I was looking for someone, actually," Mulder responded. John had been one of the ones to help force him out of the cave, literally carrying him at one point when he refused to walk any further. He didn't blame him, but he was a little cautious of him. "Uh, a young girl."

"Still looking for that ghost, huh?"

Scully appeared behind John. "Yep. And Mulder can only draw stick people, so we're relying on his memory. Of the ghost. The ghost in the caves."

John looked back at her, cocking an eyebrow. "You don't believe in ghosts, ma'am?"

"And this is having literally met two of them," Mulder said. "She literally had a conversation with one and then got tricked into shooting me with an imaginary gun. That's how far in denial she is."

Scully shot him a glare, and then looked back at John. "I believe in ghosts… sort of. Just not this particular ghost. You don't, either, I assume. Otherwise you wouldn't have dragged Mulder out of that cave kicking and screaming."

"I believe in what he saw," John corrected. "But he did need medical help. It seems he still does."

"He staged a jailbreak so he could track down this ghost of his," Scully said.

Mulder waved his hand, cutting off whatever she was going to say about how reckless he was. "Do you know a lot about the people indigenous to this area?"

"Considering that I am one of them, yes."

"Well… that simplifies things. Do you know of any young girls who died in those caves? Possibly of a violent death?"

"No. I would suggest you check the tribal records, but if your ghost existed before that journal was written, there won't be any history of her."

"That was your whole plan?" Scully wondered.

He shushed her. "John, do you know of a man who was murdered in or near those caves? He would have been stabbed in the back – literally – about right here," he pointed out the spot on his back.

John gave him a weird look, like surprise mixed with uncertainty, and then he nodded. "I know of one… maybe. It's not really a story, but sort of a legend. Something mothers would tell their children to keep them out of the caves. They still say it today."

"Well don't stop for a dramatic pause, tell me!"

"Uh, give me a moment to think of the translation." He put his hand on the wall, staring up at the ceiling briefly, and then he spoke in a rhythmic way. His words put Mulder in a trance. "Stay off the rocks… away from the dark… or the bone knife… will pierce you." He looked between them, unsure. "Mothers were afraid their children would fall into the river, so they told them a man would stab them with a knife made of bone if they disobeyed."

"A knife made of bone?" Scully repeated blandly.

Mulder slid down onto the bench, his hand pressed against the wound on his back. It was starting to become cold again, like the blade was still brushing against his spine. He thought of his nightmare suddenly, of Scully lying on the floor of a cabin, bleeding out from a wound in her back. He saw the edges of bone protruding from it.

"Bone fragments," he murmured.

Scully looked up. "What was that, Mulder?"

"Someone used bone fragments… like a knife."

"So someone was really killing children with bones?"

"No, no, I mean…" He looked between them, finding weird expressions staring back at him. He knew they couldn't understand his train of thought. He barely understood it. "Uh, nothing. I think my head is getting to me again. We should keep looking for her face, Scully."

She shrugged, exiting to the next room. John stared at Mulder, putting a strong hand on his shoulder. He bent down and whispered softly, so softly that the others touring the room would not hear it. Mulder wasn't even sure he heard it.

"You should find that cabin."

When Mulder looked up, John was gone, and Scully was standing in the doorway. The room was otherwise empty. She beckoned him. "Come on. There are more portraits in the next room."

"What did they give me at the hospital?" he grumbled, following her to the next row of pictures. He barely saw them. His memories of the past few moments, of the conversation they had had with John, were fading rapidly, but one sentence remained. It kept repeating over and over again, until he started mumbling it to himself, until the image of the forest came back to him in living color.

He stopped where he was, shutting his eyes. He was seeing the leaves for the first time, now green instead of gray. He could smell the sap, hear the birds singing. It must have been spring. His skin was heating up, the mulch around his bare toes was as warm as beach sand.

"I should…" he blinked, flashing between the forest and the museum. "I should find that cabin."

Suddenly neither of those places were within his grasp. He was in a hospital room, machines screaming on either side of him, people rushing around his bed in blurs, lights blaring up above. He could hear Scully, and some familiar voices – the nurses and doctors who had tied him to the bed before – but everything was blending together.

"He's flat-lining! I lost his pulse!"

His eyes bulged. He tried to sit up, panicking, to tell them that he was still breathing, but several sets of hands held him down. He saw Scully staring at him, her hand over her mouth, tears brimming in her eyes, looking horrified, and the lights started to flicker.

He felt a jolt and the machines beeped furiously. He threw up his hands, trying to black the paddles from touching his chest again, but he was restrained by a sea of arms. "I'm alive!" he yelled, doing everything he could to escape their grasp. It was useless. It was like trying to swim through quicksand. "Hey! Hey! Look at me! I'm alive!"

Scully was shaking her head, and despite the madness all around him, he could hear the soft words that she spoke. "Why did you have to do this, Mulder? We could have been happy."

And then the moment passed.

He opened his eyes in a hospital bed, now completely alone. He saw something move near the door, but it was gone too fast for him to track. He tried to move his hand up to rub his aching head, but it was cuffed to the bed. Fuzzy beige cuffs. He stared at them, dumbfounded, and tugged at them a little bit. The railing was loose. He gave it another tug and it tumbled away, freeing his hand. Once he got them off, he sat up, pressing both hands hard into his skull.

"I'm just reacting badly to the drugs," he said to himself, banging his palms to his forehead to try and force himself to wake up. "I'm still sleeping. I'm still dreaming. _Wake up_."

He tried to stand up, but he fell hard to his knees, taking the piece of railing with him. He grabbed onto the bed, struggling to pull himself up as the room spun around him.

"Mulder?"

He looked up, a moan rolling up through his chest. He had definitely lived this before. Scully fell to her knees in front of him, embracing him, and then she kissed his cheek and whispered his name.

His words bubbled up. "Scully… how did you get here so fast?"

"You were out for half a day," she said, smiling at him. She fiddled with his bandages. "Oh, Mulder, I told you this would happen. What did I say before you left?"

"I think… we've done this before, Scully."

She frowned. "Yeah, I bail you out all the time."

"No, I mean this exact moment. We have done _this_ before."

Scully looked up, and Mulder noticed Gene hovering in the doorway. She spoke to him. "How long has he been like this?"

"Since yesterday, but I felt it brewing the whole trip."

"Felt what brewing?" Mulder demanded. He tried to stand, but Scully held him back. "I'm not crazy, Scully. We did this already. You got mad about the restraints, and then-"

Scully stood up suddenly, grabbing one of the restraints and holding it up to Gene. "Damn right I'm made about the restraints. Did you put these on him? That was completely unnecessary!"

"He's gonna say that he barely got me here," Mulder interrupted, clawing his way to his feet. Scully helped him back onto the bed. He rolled his wrist at Gene. "Go ahead and tell her."

Gene frowned. "Uh, he's right. I barely got him here. He wanted to go back into the caves."

"And then you ask me if that's true," Mulder cut in.

Scully had already opened her mouth to say it. She shut it with an audible click. "Of course I would ask that. Why would you want to go back into the caves?"

Mulder stared at her. He was sure about it now. He was completely losing his mind. He could recall this entire conversation – she doubted his memory of the ghost, called him crazy, and then laid down with him. He had dreamt of the meadow… the meadow…

Everything stuttered to a halt. "The meadow," he said aloud, trying to connect the dots. "What if the meadow… leads to the cabin?"

Now both of them were giving him crazy looks. Scully put her hand on his forehead. "Mulder, you're burning up. I'm going to call the doctor to give you some more morphine. Are you in pain? How does your head feel?"

He shook her hand off. He could recall the girl standing in the meadow, running away as he pleaded for her to return. Why was he so desperate for her to come back? He was afraid. There were eyes in the forest, perhaps the same eyes that wielded the blade made of bone. She was running from him, but he had found her. He had found her in the cabin. But then how did she get to the caves?

"Mulder, you're scaring me," Scully said.

"It's okay," he responded, measuring the honesty in her eyes. "It's okay… you're just a dream. Both of you are. I have to… I have to figure this out, or I won't wake up."

"Watch him, I'm going to get the doctor," Scully said. She left the room, glancing back at him anxiously before disappearing into the shadowy hallway. Mulder craned his neck to see her, but the lights had suddenly gone out. He could hear her talking, but he didn't understand what she was saying. It was all gibberish. It was all nonsense.

Gene came up to his bedside, putting a hand on his arm. "This is not a dream, Fox. You let that ghost theory get into your head. What do you see right now? What do you think is happening?"

Mulder put his hands over his face. "I'm in a hospital bed, talking to you. Scully left. It's dark outside. What is she saying?"

"It's not dark outside. Open your eyes. Fox, open your eyes."

Mulder obeyed, staring into the hallway. It seemed normal again. Nurses were walking around, someone was talking over the PA system, and Scully was standing just shy of the doorway with one of his doctors. She was looking at him, fear in her eyes.

He kept blinking, waiting for everything to go dark again, but it stayed right where it was.

"Can you see it now?" Gene asked.

"I was at the museum," Mulder said. He knew he had been there. He had touched the rough walls. He had sat on the plush benches. He had felt the heat and humidity outside. He had stumbled through the rain and encountered that old lady in the library. "I was at the library… I can't be back here… I can't be here…"

"Listen to me," Gene insisted, pulling his hands away from his eyes. "Hey, just calm down and listen to what I am saying. You never left this hospital. You've been unconscious for a little while. You were probably hallucinating because of your concussion."

Suddenly it occurred to him that he was cold. He felt damp. "What happened in the cave, Gene?" he asked, scowling when he received no answer. " _What happened in the cave_?"

Gene was quiet for several minutes. He stared at Mulder with the intensity of a wax figure. His blank expression faded into sadness, and he shook his head, his eyebrows pulling downward.

"I couldn't get you out."

Mulder drew a blank. "What?"

"I couldn't get you out. I had to leave you."

"I don't… I don't…"

"You should find that cabin."

With those final words, the image of him faded, and Mulder opened his eyes again. He was in the same hospital bed, in the same situation. Gene was standing in the corner like he had been the first time, looking out into the storm. When he looked back, Mulder saw no indication that he remembered their conversation. Mulder flexed and rattled his restraints.

"Would you stop doing that?" Gene asked quietly.

Mulder, mystified, responded, "Would you get these things off of me?"


	20. Gone

**Gone.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 20, 2010.**

Scully rushed from place to place, never really stopping to take a breath. She even tapped her foot in the back of the taxi, her heart stirring when the house came into view. She was outside before the car had come to a complete stop, shoving money through the window and ignoring the change she was due. She stared at the door, her world slowing down for the first time since she heard the news. She was really here. She was really dealing with this.

He opened the door as she walked up the driveway. His face was grim, as were the faces behind him. She walked alongside a muddied van, glancing inside, as if she expected to see her goofy partner looking back at her. He was supposed to be with them.

"Where is he?"

She was beckoned inside, and the man who had opened the door introduced himself. "I'm Gene Foster. I was the one who contacted Mulder about the disappearances."

"That's great," she said dryly. "Where is he?"

"He's gone, ma'am," another man responded. He had a badge around his neck identifying him as a park ranger. He was holding his hat against his chest, looking sadly at the ground. His demeanor was echoed around the room, and she hated it.

"He can't just be gone," she said, glancing around at their mournful eyes. "Why aren't you looking for him? He could be injured! He could be freezing to death down there!"

One of the other men, this one much younger with ridiculous curly blonde hair, piped up. He would not meet her eyes. "We all saw it happen. He didn't fall or wander off… he's just gone."

"What the hell does that mean?"

Gene indicated the couch. "You should sit down."

"I don't want to sit down. I want to know what happened to Mulder."

"What I'm about to tell you might shock you."

"Believe me, I can take it."

He took a breath, frowning, and then spoke. His voice was sad like the others, but also full of wonder, and regret, and fear. He was the only one who looked into her eyes, and what she saw in him was startlingly honest. It made his words much more powerful.

"We were looking for him. He disappeared – jumped right off a cliff into the river. We found him on the shore, sitting up. He was talking to someone." He glanced around, not making eye contact with anyone else. "We all saw her. And then… Mulder was just gone. I'm so sorry."

Scully was at a loss. She heard herself speak, heard herself sound like a scared little girl, and her own words kept repeating in her mind. "What do you mean he's gone?"

"He just disappeared. Both of them did."

She sunk into the couch, taking a few deep breaths to steady herself. Within moments the fear passed into determination. She looked at the motley crew, the crew that had left him down there, and locked her jaw. "You're going to show me where it happened."

"But we can't-" the blonde man tried to object.

"I'm going down there one way or another," Scully snapped at him. "I'm going to find him. One of you is going to show me how to get there, or draw me a map."

For a moment she only got blank stares, and then the ranger cleared his throat. He flipped his badge around, gazing down at it. "I'll take you down there."

"I'm going, too," Gene said.

She glared at him. "You're the reason he was down there in the first place."

Gene swallowed, looking away from her blazing eyes. She saw a fire in him, too, but it wasn't nearly as radiant as the guilt. "I know. I owe it to him. I'll help however I can."

She could not stop herself from speaking. "If he dies… if he dies…" Everyone in that room knew what she was going to say. She scowled at him for another moment, and then she went to the door, grinding her fist into the frame. "Are we going or what?"

"Just let me get my gear together," the ranger said quietly.


	21. Visions

**Visions.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

"Can you please keep an eye on him? He might try to make a run for it."

Mulder looked between Scully and the nurse, maintaining an innocent smile. When his lover left the room, he set his eyes on the nurse completely, trying to remember how he had gotten away with this the first time. "Uh, can you help me to the bathroom?"

She cocked an eyebrow. "Nice try."

"Oh, come on, I'm not trying to get away. I can barely stand. Look at me. I just have to pee, and I really don't want to do it in a bedpan. Can you help me out?"

She bit her lip, glancing into the hall, and then she approached his bedside. She pulled the covers back and helped him sit up, supporting him across the room. He leaned in the doorframe, sizing up the nearby chair. She reached in to turn on the light for him.

He grabbed her, trying to shove her in like he had the first time, but she steeled her legs and veered away from him, stumbling outside and shouting something in Spanish. He recoiled, not expecting the resistance, and his legs suddenly stopped working. He fell back against the bed, jarring his stab wound on the mattress as he went down. Black dots erupted in his eyes as the pain rolled through him. He immediately regretted every life choice that had brought him here.

Doctors swarmed the room again, hauling him up. Someone had brought the restraints. His nurse was repeating what had happened to someone in the doorway.

"Come on!" he shouted, struggling against them. "It's a dream anyway! Just let me start over! Or can we just skip to me finding out where the damn cabin is?" He threw a punch, catching someone in the nose. "Where is the cabin? Send me a vision or something! You're bad at being a ghost!"

He woke up in the hospital bed again.

He groaned, yanking at the restraints. Gene looked up from the window, appearing unsettled, and murmured, "Would you stop doing that?"

Mulder glared at him. "Would you stop saying that?"

Gene frowned. "Scully will be here soon."

"I know. We've been over this." Mulder turned his head angrily – it was just about all he could manage at the moment – and scowled at the wall. He decided not to break out of the bracers this time. When Scully inevitably rushed in, she would be horrified by how they had treated him, and he would have her attention. He could try to explain what was happening, so maybe she wouldn't ask the nurse to watch him. Or he could act perfectly sane. That was probably his best bet.

She came in moments after Gene left, having received that urgent message on his phone. She gasped as she paused in the doorway, and then she started undoing his restraints. "Who did this to you?" she demanded. "How did this happen?"

"It was nothing," Mulder said, going with nonchalance. "I had a bad reaction to the drugs. I'm fine now. Gene was just trying to keep me from hurting myself."

Just then, Gene appeared in the doorway. He looked confused.

"Isn't that right, Gene?"

"Right," the scientist responded.

Scully looked between them, appearing suspicious, but she dropped it pretty quickly. She pressed her lips to his forehead. "I thought the worst when they called me."

"You can breathe easy now. I'm fine. Everything is fine."

"He said you were seeing things."

"I was. It was just a concussion. They patched me up and got some fluids in me." He grabbed her hand, faking his best smile. "Look at me. I'm fine. I just feel a little woozy, that's all."

She touched his bandages, cringing. "I should have come with you."

"Nah. Gene had my back."

She smiled, content for the time being, and then she slid sideways to join him in the bed. "Well you look exhausted. You should take it easy."

He was content for a moment, and then he remembered what happened next. He pulled himself up, rudely letting her drop to the mattress. "Uh, no, actually I'm pretty hungry. Could you ask the doctors if I can eat something? I feel like it's been days."

She was frowning as she stood up. "O-Okay. What do you want?"

"Surprise me."

She left the room, followed quickly by Gene, and Mulder felt a little twinge in his back. He was being stabbed again. He crawled out of bed and went into the bathroom, pulling his robe up to check the wound. He was gushing blood all over again. He ripped the sheet from the bed, tied it around his waist, and threw his coat on over it, hastily pulling his pants on. He did his best to walk casually out of the room, going in the opposite direction that Scully had, but he groaned when he found himself at the stairs. It was going to be a painful walk down.

He dripped blood all the way to the bottom, and by the time he got to the front doors, he was leaving a steady line of it behind him. He heard people calling after him, probably a bit concerned about his breadcrumbs, but he ignored them.

He pushed his way out into the rain and went left instead of right, taking the first side road on the right side of the main road and shuffling away as fast as he could. He kept going, getting the sense that he was headed the right way, until he saw patches of trees starting up in the distance. He was coming upon a park. He smiled, continuing until he almost crashed into a little wooden sign on the sidewalk. It announced the park as a historical sight for a now-extinct tribe.

He was in the right place.

He walked into the trees, shivering, his teeth trembling. He was soaking wet and the wind kept trying to knock him off of his feet. It was nothing like the vision he had had of the girl in the meadow – instead of the beautiful colors, he saw only shades of gray, occasionally streaked white by the lightning. His heart rumbled along with the thunder.

"Why can't you just… tell me what you want…?" he panted, clawing his way through the underbrush. He came out into a clearing and stood straight, staring around at the apocalyptic scene. Trees were swaying violently. Lightning arched overhead. The grass barely looked real, just a blur of gray and green on the ground. He stepped out of the trees, spinning around with his arms out. "Just tell me what you want! What do you want me to do?"

He became aware of her before he saw her. He turned around, taking in the sight of his ghost. She was still glowing like the moon, still young and beautiful, and she still looked sad. He was again overwhelmed by the emotions she had shared with him.

"What can I do?" he asked.

She just stared at him.

"Can you talk? Can you communicate in any other way?"

He got a flash of the cabin, and a piercing pain in his head.

"I know about the cabin. I know about the meadow. I know about the forest. Is there anything else? I don't understand what you want from me. I can't help you if I can't understand this. What's with the hospital room?" He waited, watching her face. "Is that my mind fighting your mind? Give me something here. Help me understand what you need."

Her eyes flickered to the ground, and suddenly she was gone. It was sunny again, but he was still soaking wet. He looked around rapidly, catching a glimpse of movement on the other side of the meadow. He ran toward it, shouting, and then stopped in his tracks. She was showing him another scene from her life. She was showing him exactly what he had asked for.

She was lying in a man's arms. He was sobbing over her corpse. Her back was gashed open, like Scully's had been in his dream. He could see pieces of bone sticking out of it. He could feel the chilly wind coming from the east. He could see the anger in the young man's eyes.

He gathered up the corpse and started walking with it. Mulder followed. Within moments the trees opened up to the dry riverbed and the cabin. Mulder watched him drop the body on the floor. He watched the blood roll out of it, just like in the dream, and then the young man let out a mournful scream. He grabbed a knife – eerily similar to the one in the woman's back – from a rack on the wall and walked back past Mulder, marching into the meadow. He vanished suddenly.

Mulder was back in the storm with the young girl. He started putting the pieces together. "You were murdered," he said, glancing around. "With a bone knife. He stabbed you. And that man… your brother, or your husband… he brought you to the cabin."

She was staring wistfully behind Mulder.

He turned, seeing something that had not been there before. It was the same place he and the other explorers had entered the cave. "Your killer was in the cave… your brother went after him."

He felt the cold blade twisting in his back again. He fell to one knee, gasping. The young woman walked past him, staring longingly at the cave entrance. Mulder tried to keep his eyes on it, but the pain was becoming too much.

"Either your brother killed him… or he killed your brother."

She looked down at him, pitiless, ageless, and blinked.

She started to disappear, melting into the raindrops like she had never been there. Mulder sank into the grass, spitting stalks out as he tried to regain his breath. He pressed his hand to his back, desperately trying to stop the bleeding. It felt like dying. It felt like he was disappearing, too.

And then the thought struck him.

"There are two ghosts. You, and one of them. You didn't take those people… he did."


	22. Malice

**Malice.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 20, 2010.**

Scully gazed into the cave opening, chilled by the darkness below them. Her companions, the ranger and the scientist who had gotten them into this situation, were already climbing down into the hole. She lingered on the surface. Something felt strange about this whole situation.

Her mind went back to Iden and the terrible visions she had witnessed. She had insisted Mulder was fine, even when Scully got the call to come out here. Scully wished she could share her certainty about the situation.

She looked back at the woods, sighed, and started the descent, navigating the rocks slowly and carefully. She had two hands waiting for her as she came down, but she ignored them both, popping on her headlamp and going on without them. She hated the look of this cave. Everything was sharp, every corner was dark, and it was forty degrees cooler the moment they left the sunlight. She felt the weight of the world above bearing down on them as they walked.

"It should take about ten hours to get to the cavern," the ranger said, his voice barely rising above a whisper. "Just tell me if you need to take a break."

Scully did not answer him. She was irritated with both of them at the moment. She just wanted to find Mulder and put this whole mess behind her. She wouldn't even let herself consider that he might be dead. He couldn't be dead. She just kept walking, determined, and kept her mouth shut. She was going to banish him to the couch for months after this. She was going to forbid him from getting mail – she was going to take his tablet, his phone, and the dog away.

She kept those ideas in her mind, even though she knew exactly what would happen when she found him. She would embrace him, and get him to safety as quickly as she could. Losing him was not an option. It was not a reality she planned for.

It was a brisk walk through the cave. She learned to duck and dodge very early on, something the ranger mentioned had been a challenge for Mulder. She alternated between the middle and the back, never lagging behind, always urging them to go faster. When they came to a one-sided drop off, she almost slipped and plummeted into the water running beside them, but the ranger grabbed her and slammed her back against the left cave wall. Her ears rung, but she was alive.

When they came into a wider cabin, they walked in triangle formation, with Gene touching the walls as he passed. "Mulder and I photographed these petroglyphs. He sent you a picture of that nest of slugs right there. I guess we never got signal, though."

She refused to talk to the scientist. She was almost sure she would say something snarky. She focused on the path ahead, planning each step carefully.

"Mulder wanted to come down here, you know."

She turned on Gene, cocking an eyebrow. "What are you trying to say?"

"I didn't drag him down here and then abandon him."

"But you did abandon him," she said, her voice laced with venom. "You left him down here. He trusted you, and you left him down here!"

"I tried to find him! I searched for hours, but he was gone!"

"He is _not_ gone!"

Gene shut his mouth, glancing away, and then his tone softened. "We're going to find him."

Scully broke off into a sort of half sob, putting her hand over her mouth. An unexpected wave of grief came over her and she had to look away. Her eyes welled up with tears. "I know that," she responded in a high pitched whisper.

"Scully…"

"Don't," she said, holding out her hand to him. She wiped her tears away, walking a little ahead of the ranger. "Let's just go. Let's keep moving."

She was aware of time passing, but the ache in her legs was at the very back of her mind. She thought of lying in bed with Mulder the night before he had gotten those emails from Gene Foster. She thought of his never ending monologue about a mythological killer bird bigger than a city bus. Now she wished she had listened. She wished she had kissed him again before letting him leave.

Without taking breaks or even slowing down, their little group made it to the chamber in just under nine hours. She was eager to search for Mulder, but as soon as she saw the ranger set his backpack down her legs started throbbing in protest. She set out her sleeping back, forcing her eyes to stay open, and sat up in the center. Gene set up a powerful lantern in the middle of the cavern, illuminating the walls and sending eerie shadows to the ceiling. He ended up in a similar position to hers, sitting up and looking at the wall of lichen, unwilling to sleep.

"It was near here," Gene said, glancing at her. "It was down one of those tunnels, back that way, and across a manmade bridge. He was on a landing on the other side of the river."

It was silent for some time. Scully kicked off her hiking boots and climbed into the sleeping bag, starting to shiver in this sunless place. When she breathed in, she experienced a wave of affection. It smelled like Mulder. He must have used this before her. Gene was letting her borrow it. She shut her eyes and imagined him zipped up beside her. He would probably be talking about mole people, or the ghostly boat steered by Hades. He had seemed so excited when he spoke of it earlier.

She thought the ranger was asleep until he rolled over in his sleeping bag and addressed Gene. His voice was rough. "Hey, you ever figure out what that stringy shit you found on the shore was?"

Gene shrugged. "I don't know. I thought it was excrement, but…"

"But what?" Scully interrupted.

He looked up, surprised that she was talking to him. "Uh, but Mulder thought it was… something else. He insisted, actually."

It sounded just like him. "What did he say it was?"

"He said it was ectoplasm. He was adamant about it. He said ghosts use it to interact with the corporeal world. He was really stuck on that ghost theory."

She held back her doubt. Mulder was not there, so she had to be the believer in his absence. If this was really something supernatural, she was his only chance. She could see doubt in the face of the ranger, to the point of irritation, and Gene seemed to be on the fence about the whole thing.

She decided to push him one way or the other.

"Did you really see him vanish?"

Gene cleared his throat, looking at the ground. He spoke softly. "I'm not sure what I saw."

"Did you see the ghost, or not?"

"I-I don't know."

"Trust your eyes," she said. "If you saw a ghost with Mulder in that chamber, then you know what it looks like. You know exactly what took him."

Gene finally looked up. "It was… she was glowing. She had her hand on his face, and he was just staring up at her. He said something… God, what did he say?"

"Just replay the scene in your head. It'll come to you."

He shut his eyes for a moment, and then he snapped his fingers. "He said… 'you're grieving.'"

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah, because I was thinking how strange it was for him to say that to a ghost – er, to whatever she was. Do you know why?"

"No… I have no idea."

She curled up into her sleeping bag, trying to picture what Gene had seen. She saw Mulder on his knees on the shore of a river, water rushing past him, and a spirit drifting toward him. She could hear Mulder saying those words over and over again, but they made no sense to her.

"Why would you say that, Mulder?" she murmured to herself. "Why would you say that to…?" Her eyes popped open. "He said that to a ghost."

Gene was still sitting up. He looked over when she spoke. "What was that?"

"He said the ghost was grieving. He thought she was grieving. He must have been trying to help her." She sat up, looking around, expecting the ghost to be hovering nearby. They were still alone in the cavern. "Mulder was probably trying to help. But why would she take him?"

"You actually believe in ghosts?" Gene asked.

"I believe in Mulder," she responded shortly, getting to her feet. "I can't sleep. Show me where he was when he disappeared. I need to see it."

Gene scrambled up, and the ranger groaned and crawled out of his sleeping bag, too. He glanced around to get his bearings, and then he pulled out a spotlight and led them into yet another tunnel. Scully was right behind him, looking around desperately for any signs of Mulder, or the ghost that had abducted him. She was disappointed every time they turned a corner and found only darkness.

When they came to the bridge, they had a good view of the shore he had vanished from. Gene pointed it out the moment they could see it. Scully rushed across the metal contraption, going ahead of their guide, and scanned the ground with the spotlight.

It was empty.

She walked toward the water, crouching down near a slick spot. It was like jelly, flattened by a shoeprint. She ran her own shoe through it, recoiling when a disgusting smell wafted toward her.

"Ectoplasm."

She looked up, finding Gene crouch beside her. "What?"

"It's the same stuff we found on the other side, near the camp. Ectoplasm."

Scully stared at it, momentarily afraid to have found tangible evidence of his disappearance. Something had taken him from here, and it had left this streak behind – something he had claimed was the product of spirits interacting with the world. He had been taken despite his knowledge of such things. He had been targeted despite his belief in this phenomena.

"So it was here, then," she murmured, pressing her hand flat to the ground. The stones were cold and lifeless. "Where are you, Mulder?"

She heard something and stood straight, turning the light in every direction. Her companions came a little closer, looking around rapidly. She focused on the river, and then pointed the light up, mesmerized because she could suddenly see her own breath. It was so cold that breathing created a sharp pain in her throat. Her skin prickled up and she had the sense that they were no longer alone. But it was not loneliness that struck her.

She felt something looming. It was angry. It produced a malice that she had never experienced, and she had spent her entire career dealing with a variety of monsters. This was something new. It was something she wanted to escape from.

"We need to leave," Gene whispered.

Scully froze up as the water started to shift. Something was stirring within it. She glanced at the others, getting the sense that she had brought them down here to their deaths.

"It's too late," she responded in a murmur.


	23. Shifting

**Shifting.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 21, 2010.**

He woke up alone, and for the first time in a long time, he was not in a hospital room. Since he had fallen in the meadow, he had woken up in that same situation over a dozen times. It was starting to drive him crazy. He even made it all the way back to Virginia once, but as he walked into the front door of his home, he woke up again. He was uncertain about this new place because nothing had changed. He had gleaned nothing new since the meadow. He was familiar with the story now – the young woman who had been killed viciously, whose brother had gone toward the caves with a knife in his hand.

He still had no way to help her. It scared him, because as he took in his surroundings, he realized he was back in the cave. He was a bit more knowledgeable, but not even one step closer to solving this problem. He was useless to her. But at least he wasn't dead.

He sat up on his knees, gazing around into the darkness. He didn't have his flashlight with him, and his coat was gone. His skin was slicked with a foul-smelling liquid – probably ectoplasm – and it was starting to burn. He was cold, blind, and crawling around like a newborn baby, searching for some kind of landmark. His hand struck water.

He recoiled, surprised that he couldn't hear the river. He must have ended up at a quieter section of it. He plunged his hand into the icy water, glad when the plasma washed away. He crawled as close as he could, splashing it over his arms and face. It chilled him to the bone, but it was better than having his skin fry off. When he was relatively clean, he sat up and leaned in, hoping to catch a glimpse of sunlight along the river. Perhaps he was closer to the surface, where the water drifted into one of the tourist areas. He could flag someone down and escape this place. He had to find a way to free the young woman, and this place was not conducive to thought.

He felt his way to the nearest wall, almost rolling backward when the floor started to tilt. It was a useless search without a light. He was just staring into the darkness.

"Is anyone there?" he hissed, keeping his voice low. He had a feeling the second ghost already knew of his existence, but he didn't want to do anything to draw it to him. He sat straight up and listened for a response, jumping every time he heard a sound. Mostly he was getting startled by his own heartbeat, or the pebbles sliding away from his shoes.

He whispered every few minutes, hoping someone would pass by and hear him. He moved about the cavern, trying to get a feel for its layout. He learned pretty quickly that it was an official suburb of munchkin land, with a ceiling too low to stand and jagged walls. He had to stay on his hands and knees, shuffling around and whispering like a crazy person who'd lost a contact. He stuck his hands fearlessly into every tunnel he found, sometimes recoiling with snail goop on his fingers, sometimes brushing up against something spiky and realizing he was probably disturbing a spider. Once he even found a pocket watch, cracked and dusty, but still keeping time.

It was almost six in the morning.

But what day was it? He began to fear the worst. He wasn't sure how much time had passed. If his hallucinations were in real time, he had been gone for weeks. Scully was probably worried sick. She was probably hosting a manhunt for him. But he knew it could also be moments after he had disappeared – though he wasn't sure when that was, exactly. He couldn't figure out if the others had really found him with the ghost, if they had really left the cave at all. His memories blurred together. Perhaps only a few seconds had passed, and his companions were still in the cave awaiting his return. He liked to believe that, but he was uncertain about it.

He made it to the edge of the river again, sticking both hands in to get the jagged pebbles out of his palms. His skin was starting to burn from crawling around. He reached a little further into the water, surprised to find the opposite shore. Was he really sitting cautiously alongside a stream?

He slid into the water, glad for the gentle current. It was barely moving at all. He climbed onto the other shore, reaching out in front of him to make sure he wasn't about to plunge into a larger waterway. It was all dry rock, and the only sound of water came from behind him. Suddenly he was glad the others weren't there. He would never live that down.

Finally he heard something aside from his own echo. It came from in front of him – way, way in front of him – and his head popped up immediately. Someone else was here. Someone was far away, talking in a hushed tone. He was not alone.

"Hey!" he shouted, breaking his code of silence. "Hey, is somebody there?"

The response came immediately. It lightened his heart. "Mulder?"

He grinned. Of course it was her. She couldn't help herself. He started crawling toward the sound. "Stay there! I'm coming to you!"

"Mulder where are you?" Scully shouted back.

He kept crawling toward the sound, but he crashed into solid rock, smashing his nose. He heard the thud echoing in the cavern as he drew away. He felt blood dripping down his face.

"Was that you? Are you okay?"

"I think I broke my nose," he responded. He sounded congested. He felt along the rock, but there were no openings. "How did you get over there?"

"What do you mean? How did _you_ get over _there_?"

Lights flashed around his cavern. They were coming from up above, from the ceiling. He pulled himself up, using rocks as leverage and balancing precariously in the only opening. He could see three sets of feet moving around an open room, their lights dancing across the wall. One of them settled on him, and then all three found his face. He was momentarily blinded.

Scully fell to her knees at the opening, leaning down. Her eyes were wide with fear. "Mulder! Is there another way through?"

"I need a flashlight," he said. The opening was only big enough for him to stick his hand through, and when he did just that, Scully held onto it. Her eyes never left his face.

"How did you escape?" she asked.

"I'll tell you everything, believe me," he said, withdrawing his hand and snatching her flashlight. He dropped back down to the floor, looking up at her face. It almost looked like she was trying to fit through that little opening. "I'm coming to you. Stay there."

"He's in one of the caverns below us. Those areas are closed to tours."

"Is that you, Marshall?" Mulder craned his neck. He couldn't see anything past Scully.

"Glad you're alive," Marshall responded dryly. He sounded a little grumpy. Mulder couldn't blame him. Scully became pretty aggressive when her loved ones were in danger.

Mulder backed away from the opening, shining his light around the room. He had a few options to try and make it to them. He had to make sure they were safe first. "Scully, there are two ghosts down here – a young woman and a man. The woman won't hurt you, but I think the man is the one who's been taking people. Just try not to piss him off."

"Excellent advice," Gene said from somewhere in the back.

"We may have run into him already," Scully said, glancing back to scowl at Gene. "He was in the river, and then you started shouting and he disappeared. So thanks for that."

"Dana Scully, are you actually buying into all of this ghost nonsense?"

She twisted her lips. "Just get over here, Mulder."

"Got it, coach."

He wandered around for a while, keeping verbal contact with the others as he wound through the cave. He kept finding ways to get above and below them, but whenever he was on the same level, the openings were too small for him to climb through. He recognized the cavern they were standing in – it was where he had seen the young woman, where she had showed him her pain – but he was confounded when he tried to get to it.

Hours had passed before he finally realized what was happening. He stood on the opposite side of a few heavy stalactites, staring through at Scully, who looked dreadfully exhausted, when it hit him. "He doesn't want me to get to you."

She blinked. "The ghost?"

"Remember when I told you about those legends related to caves? I've read accounts of shifting passageways. He doesn't want me to find you, so he's cutting off all of my access points before I even reach them."

"We can try to chip out a new door," Gene suggested. He was nearby, but he seemed reluctant to get too close to Scully. He pulled a hammer out of his backpack.

Marshall eyed him. "Ghost or no ghost, I can't let you destroy these caves."

"We don't have to," Mulder said. He reached through the rocks, and Scully followed suit. He could almost touch her hand. He stared at her face, glad to finally have the living version right before his eyes, and then he pulled away. "Scully, I'm about to do something crazy."

Her eyes widened. "Mulder, don't you dare."

"You don't even know what it is yet."

"Don't you dare. I will disown you. I will sell your alien mailbox on EBay."

"How about you just pull me out."

"What?"

Mulder backtracked to the river, coming upon the same balcony Gene had claimed he leaped from before. He looked down at the black water, rushing past like it was being chased by the hounds of hell. It was a violent contrast to the tiny stream he had encountered in the black room. He could hear Scully cursing his name from further along the river, her voice carrying even above the screaming water. It warmed him to know how much she cared.

He jumped as far out as he could, trying to avoid the jagged rocks. As soon as he hit the water his breathing was cut off. Everything was shocked. He did a couple of flips, unable to control the direction of his body, and then he smashed into the shore. He pushed himself off of it, keeping his eyes on the bobbing lights ahead.

When he finally reached them, he went full starfish and grabbed onto every rock he could. He was slowed exponentially, his organs lurching forward like he had been in a car accident. He heard shouting, but he couldn't place it.

A rope fell across his shoulders. He released one of the rocks and grabbed onto it, wrapping it around his wrist and hugging it. He was pulled up over the rock and back into the swell, but he quickly rolled onto the shore from the force of the water. It shoved him aside. Several sets of hands grabbed onto his clothes, dragging him onto the dry rocks, and then everyone sat back and panted.

Scully pulled his head into her lap, gasping as she tried to squeeze the water out of his hair. "If you ever… do that again… I swear I will… kill you, Mulder."

He smiled. He couldn't help himself. "Piece of cake."

Despite how angry she seemed, how distraught and disorderly she appeared, how deep the circles under her eyes were, she grinned at him. She placed a kiss to his forehead, pulling him closer, and then leaned down to rest her forehead to his. She stroked his cheek with one hand, sighing contently. "You have no idea how scared I was. It was like you were abducted all over again."

He put his hand over hers, turning his face into her stomach. She was warm and she smelled like home. "I have an idea," he responded.

"Abducted?" Gene asked.

"It's a long story," Mulder said, coughing when he raised his voice over the sounds of the river. "Can we go back to the lichen room? This place is giving me a headache."

Scully helped him up, and he leaned heavily on her as they moved back through the tunnels. Marshall was ahead, looking sullen as he sat down on his sleeping bag. They already had a little camp set up – three sleeping bags sitting around the artificial campfire.

Something clicked in Mulder's head.

"You left the cave, didn't you?"

Gene looked up, as guilty as a kid with his hand in the cookie jar. He glanced at Scully, and then stared at the floor. "The others were afraid they would be next. We looked for you."

Scully was glaring at the poor man, but Mulder was not angry. Gene and the other scientists were untrained in this area. Having a party member disappear must have been terrifying. Marshall would have had no choice but to lead them back. "It's okay," he said to Gene, patting him hard on the shoulder. "Don't let Scully guilt trip you. I'm the one who disappeared, and I'm giving you a pass on this, okay? But you better stick around next time."

Gene smiled, a little perplexed and a little enchanted. He nodded.

Mulder turned his attention to the moping ranger. "I haven't given up on finding those missing people alive. I'm proof that they could be safe and sound somewhere. That includes Sal."

He scratched his head, shimmying into his sleeping bag. "I won't believe that until I see it."

"Neither will Scully. You guys should form a club." Mulder took a seat on his sleeping bag, smiling at Scully when she plopped down beside him. She was trying to get a good look at his nose. "I ran face first into a wall," he told her. "I look like a Persian cat, don't I?"

She laughed a little, dabbing the blood away with a napkin.

"Seriously, we could start a breeding program."

"Shut up, Mulder."

"I love it when you say that."

She set her napkin down, prodding the areas around his nose. "I want to get this X-rayed as soon as possible. We can leave in the morning, right, Marshall?"

"We can't leave," Mulder objected.

Scully looked at him like he had just set himself on fire. "What?"

"She asked me to help her. I can't just abandon her."

Her mouth was wide open. "The ghost?"

"Yes, the ghost."

"Have you completely lost your mind?"

"I'm not crazy, Scully."

"Yes, you are, if you think for one second that I'm leaving you down here."

"Then don't leave."

"Whatever is down here, it wants to kill us," Scully said, whacking him in the shoulder. "Whatever was with us in that cavern wanted to hurt us. I could feel it."

"Will you just say 'ghost,' Scully? It would be so much easier on you."

"I'm not sure that it's a ghost. I am sure that we should stay away from it."

"That's exactly what I'll do once I find a way to help the woman move on."

Scully groaned. "Please, just listen to me this one time."

"I am listening to you. Trust me, I know where you're coming from. I know why you're afraid. I felt it too – the other ghost. But we can't abandon her. She has no one, Scully. She's alone and afraid, trapped down here for God knows how long, and we can potentially end her suffering."

She just stared at him doubtfully, one eyebrow raised.

"I think she was protecting me. I think that's why she took me. If she was really the one responsible for all those people disappearing, do you think I would be here right now? She may be the reason for that. I owe her my life."

"You don't know that," Scully responded, beginning to get irritated. "I'm not even sure that she exists, Mulder. You have multiple lacerations on your head, and that bump on your occipital bone is indicative of a concussion. You need a hospital, not an exorcism."

"Trust me when I tell you you're wrong on this one."

She twisted her lips. "Can we just…? Let's just go to sleep. We can have it out in the morning. I've been walking all day and I think I might start hallucinating if I'm up any longer."

She slid into the sleeping bag, and he got in behind her, wrapping his arms around her to keep her as close as possible. Once he had turned off the artificial campfire, he started shimmying out of his clothes and laying them on the cave floor to dry. Scully was enough to warm him up. Her skin radiated heat. Their argument had ended rather abruptly, but he was not interested in keeping it up. He could only think of how warm and comfortable he was.

Despite his gratitude for the woman snuggled up to his chest, he had a hard time sleeping. He was as comfortable as he had been in days, but he feared waking up in the hospital bed again. He feared that this was all a dream, that he was wasting away somewhere, hallucinating about Scully.

She spoke after a while, long after he thought she had fallen asleep.

"How are you going to help her, Mulder?"

He ran his hand up and down her arm. "I'm not sure yet. We don't have any bones to burn… no personal possessions. I don't know what's holding her here."

"Is there anything else you can do? Can you make a salt circle?"

"You watch too much TV."

"I'm sorry, I don't deal with _ghosts_ every day."

He smiled into her hair. "Maybe we _should_ leave the cave. I think we need to put some feelers out, find someone who knows how to deal with this."

"I thought you wanted to stay here, no matter what."

"I'm not a medium. She's been communicating with me through visions… That's how I know about the other ghost. I saw… I felt a knife…"

He reached to his back suddenly, testing to area to make sure he wasn't being stabbed again. He felt a tingling sensation, a memory of the pain. Scully reached around him, following his hands, frowning. "Did you hurt your back?"

"The ghost was stabbed in the back. I felt it in one of my visions."

Her hands lingered. She sounded doubtful. "Tell me about the visions."

"I… I can't."

"Why not?"

"It's personal."

"I do your laundry."

"That's not what I meant," he said, laughing a little at her response. She sounded so insistent. "It's just something… I can't talk about yet."

She was quiet. Her hands came up to his face, cupping his cheeks. "Okay. We'll talk about it when you're ready. Just… just promise me that you'll talk to me if you need to. You have a habit of bottling things up. I saw you yelling at the mailbox the other day."

"It opened during the storm. All the mail was soggy. I regret nothing."


	24. Foreign

**Foreign.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 21, 2010.**

Mulder knew everyone else was still asleep. He had this feeling in his gut that he wasn't supposed to be walking away from them, but he couldn't stop himself. Something was compelling him. He crossed the metal bridge to the chamber he had found them in, setting the artificial campfire in the center and letting it light up the area. He was dazzled by the light for a moment, and then his eyes fell on the walls, and he realized why he had been brought here.

He started taking pictures from every angle, documenting the scraped up rock with the flash on his camera. He peered into each crevice, expecting to find bones, or an old hunting knife, or some kind of object the spirits were mounting themselves to.

He was halfway around the room when he heard someone sobbing.

He turned, finding a man bent down near the light source. He had his face in his hands. There was a bloodied knife rolling away from his feet. As Mulder approached he looked up, and it became clear that he was the brother who had found the young woman in the field. But he was casting a shadow, and he wasn't glowing like the woman had. He looked alive.

Mulder went all the way around to his front, crouching down at a safe distance and staring at him. He had nothing to say, no ghostly greeting to throw out.

Minutes passed. The ghost stopped crying and returned his stare, anger and grief swirling around in his young eyes. He braced his hand on the ground between them and said something in a foreign language. Mulder couldn't begin to recognize it.

"I can't understand you," he responded. "I want to help you get out of here, but I don't know how."

Even with his words still echoing, the second ghost began to fade away. He was still watching Mulder, still waiting for some sort of explanation, but Mulder couldn't give it to him.

Soon he was alone. He stood up, picking up the artificial campfire and spinning it around. He looked at the room once more, doing his best to read into the walls, like Gene had earlier. He had encountered both ghosts now, and neither of them seemed particularly malicious – perhaps his theory about the abductions was right. Both of them were grieving, gravitating toward others who shared their pain. Perhaps this young man had failed to protect the woman.

Perhaps he was still trying to protect her, after all these years.

He woke up in his own sleeping bag, his arms still wrapped tightly around Scully. He groaned when he realized the ghosts were playing with his head again. How could he be sure he wasn't dreaming right now?

Scully stirred, twisting around and burying her face in his shoulder. "Have you been awake this whole time?" she mumbled.

He had no idea how much time had passed. "I had a bad dream. Go back to sleep."

"Was it the ghosts again? Another vision?"

"I'm not sure. It could have just been my mind." He was quiet for a moment, wondering if he should share this with her. He felt a strange connection with these spirits, and he didn't want to be mocked for believing what they showed him, especially by Scully. But he wanted someone to talk to, as well. "I saw the second ghost… he was related to the woman. She was murdered. I think… I think he might be trying to protect her."

"From what?"

"From the killer. From us. From anything that comes down here. I don't think he knows, Scully."

"He doesn't know he's dead?"

"I've read accounts of ghosts who refused to accept their deaths."

"That was 'A Christmas Carol,' Mulder."

"I'm being serious. Sometimes a death is so tragic and the circumstances are so serious that a spirit just keeps trying to complete the task, even though it can no longer have an effect on our world. It's harmless in most cases – the ghost who perpetually sweeps the hotel hallway, the ghost who keeps trying to bring news to the battlefield – but when a spirit is this determined, it begins to push through. Gene and I found ectoplasm on the shore of the river, and when I woke up after being taken, I was covered in it."

She was silent.

"Or the second ghost could be reacting to perceived threats. He could be lashing out because he thinks the tourists are trying to hurt the other ghost."

Scully shifted a little. "If he is trying to protect her, how do you expect to get them both out of here? You said it yourself – unless we find something anchoring them, we have nothing, and we could spend weeks searching these caves."

"I want to go into town. Maybe we can find an expert and bring them down here. Or we could at least bring someone who speaks their language, to tell them we don't want to hurt them."

Silence.

"Mulder?"

"Hmm?"

"If you're right about this, that means the second ghost is acting maliciously. If he is the one who took those people… they might not be alive."

"I thought about that, too."


	25. Daylight

**Daylight.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 22, 2010.**

When he finally crawled out of the cave, the daylight surprised him. He had expected it to be night, or at least storming uncontrollably, like it had been in his visions, but the sun was radiant overhead. It was hot and humid, and the walk back to the van was miserable. They all kept their heads down and dragged their feet through the undergrowth, not speaking. It was a good sign that their endless march through the cave was coming to a close, but Mulder knew it was far from over. He couldn't leave without finishing this. His day had just begun.

Gene parked on the curb, and the ranger was the first one out. Marshall walked to his jeep, waved to them, and drove off. He still looked glum, having given up on finding his friend in those caves. Mulder was still hopeful.

"I need to borrow your van," Mulder said as they all stretched on the front porch. Gene was trying to find his keys and Scully was giving him a hard look. "What? I have to find someone to exorcise that cave – or at least someone who speaks that language. Also I need to find out what language that was. And I want to look over the files of the victims again."

Scully put her hand on his shoulder. "Mulder, if you don't go into that house right now and get some rest, I will hogtie you."

He considered her, and then considered his own state. He was exhausted. He had spent most of the day making the return trip through the caves. Even when they rested, his mind was always running a hundred miles an hour. When he slept, his dreams were vivid and confusing, breeding anxiety in his already befuddled mind. The idea of sleeping on a soft bed almost made him drool.

"Fine. Fine. No need for violence."

He led her up to the guest room, glancing back before he shut the door behind them. Gene was looking up at him, a perplexing expression on his face. He seemed regretful and upset, but still determined. Mulder knew he didn't believe in ghosts, that all of this was new and alien to him, but there had to be hope for him to change. He had been completely on board with his monster theory earlier. It wasn't such a stretch to believe human spirits inhabited that cave system.

Scully laid across the bed, groaning. "I'm never going camping again. I don't care where it is. If there isn't a working bathroom and a nice, soft bed, it's not happening." She sat up suddenly, scraping her hair back with one hand. "Which reminds me, how did you guys go to the bathroom down there? I've been holding it this whole time."

"That's bad for your kidneys," Mulder responded dryly, shrugging off his tattered clothes and changing into something a little less filthy. He laid down beside her. "It's best if you just don't think about it."

She twisted her lips, rolling into his side. She rested her head on his shoulder, gazing up at him. "Can I ask you something? I need a serious answer."

"Go for it."

"Do you regret coming here?"

He almost let out his first instinct, but he held himself back, knowing she wanted something deeper than that. He had to admit to his own misgivings. "If I had known what would happen, I wouldn't have come. But now that I do know, I wouldn't go back and change anything."

"Not even that broken nose?"

"Maybe that."

"I wish you would reconsider going to the hospital."

"I can't waste time there. I'll do whatever you want when this is over, but right now I need to focus on this." He stretched out, enjoying the soft fabric on his skin.

"How are you going to find this expert?"

"I'll worry about it in the morning."

"It's three in the afternoon."

"When I wake up, then."

"So where were you going to go when you got his van?"

He looked over at her, starting to grow irritated. "I was going to go to the library and bang my head on the keyboard of some crappy old computer until I found someone."

"Fine, fine. Go to sleep."

He rolled over, turning his back to her, and buried himself in the covers. His face ached, his feet throbbed, and his mind was still swimming with the experiences he had had in the cave, but he finally felt that he could sleep.

"And don't wander off again. I'm tired of this lone wolf crap. We're a team, Mulder."

He groaned. "Fine."

By the time late evening rolled around, Mulder was still awake. He lay on his side, glaring at the window, watching shadows spread over the house next door. His eyes were fogged by sleep. His mind was jumbled. His instincts told him to take action, to continue his plight to save those spirits from themselves, but he hated the idea of moving. He just wanted to melt into the blankets. He just wanted to shut his eyes and sleep without dreaming of the cabin and the meadow.

But peace was far beyond his grasp. His companions appeared just as dusk settled over the city. Byers was the closest, sitting up at the computer desk, fiddling with a pen. Frohike was standing at the window, occasionally glancing outside, but preferring to give Mulder a sad look. Langly perused the bookshelf, and then started going through the suitcases.

"This case is really getting to you, big guy," Byers said. He set his pen down, and it rolled across the desk. Mulder jumped a little when it thudded to the floor. Was he just imagining the sound? "You should sleep," Byers went on, leaning in importantly. "Otherwise you can't finish this."

"He can sleep when it's over," Frohike argued.

Langly pulled one of the books halfway out, and then hurriedly shoved it back into place. "I think you should keep trucking. Once you get stuck on an idea, you can't let it go. I had a girlfriend who was like that – hell of a woman."

"Right," Byers said, glancing doubtfully at his friend.

"It was in college. You didn't know her."

"If I called her right now, would she acknowledge your existence?"

"Well no, since we're dead," Langly shot back.

"Guys," Mulder interrupted in a whisper, looking over his shoulder to make sure Scully was still sleeping. She had her back to him. "Why are you here?"

Frohike shrugged. "We get bored."

"Heard about your little ghost problem through the grapevine," Byers added.

"You're in my imagination, so you kind of have to know about the ghost problem," Mulder said. His eyes were starting to feel heavier. He had to fight to keep them open.

Byers gazed at the pen on the floor, a strange emotion in his eyes. Mulder could not place it. When he looked up, his image was starting to fade. "Get some sleep. We'll find out what we can in the meantime. Next stop, Mulder's imagination."

"It's a dark and twisted place," Langly said.

Mulder closed his eyes, muttering the last of the conversation to himself. "If I already know the solution to this, feel free to remind me when I wake up."


	26. Grief

**Grief.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 22, 2010.**

Scully woke to a soft mumbling sound. She twisted around, expecting to find Mulder lying beside her, but she found him crouched down beside the bed instead. It was dark in the room, but a nearby street lamp shed some light on what he was doing. He had a pen in his hand, tapping it to the ground, his other hand braced on a chair to help him stay upright.

"It was on the desk," he was saying, tapping the ground between words. He reached up, setting it on the desk. "When we came in last night, it was on the desk."

She slid across the bed, to the edge of the mattress, and stared at him. She had no idea what he was doing, or why he was doing it right now. He looked like a crazy person. "Mulder, are you okay? Did you have a bad dream?"

He looked up, startled, as if he hadn't heard her moving at all. He held out the pen, his eyes a little wild. "The pen was on the desk, Scully."

"Come back to bed."

"No, listen to me. The pen was on the desk, and I… I imagined Byers sitting there. He dropped it. When I woke up, it was still on the floor. Smell it. Burning plastic."

She could not help the skepticism in her voice. "It was probably on the floor when we came in."

"I don't think it was, Scully. I think…"

"You think your imagination came to life and moved it?"

"Something like that…"

She got up, yawning, and urged him to his feet, wrapping her arms around him. His bare chest was cold despite the warmth of the room. It was over ninety degrees outside and viciously humid, but he was chilled to the bone. She ran her hands up and down his back, trying to warm him up. "God, Mulder, did you stand in front of the freezer?"

He was still staring at the pen. "Something like that."

"Mulder?"

He cleared his throat, setting the pen carefully on the desk. He turned toward her, and for a moment she thought he was going to say something, but he just stared past her at the bookshelf. She tried to follow his eyes. He was looking at the middle where a book laid sideways against the others.

She put her hand on his face, forcing his eyes back down to her. "Hey," she whispered. "Hey, look at me. It was just a dream. You probably saw the pen on the floor when we came in."

He nodded, but she doubted she was getting anywhere with him. He was unbelievably stubborn.

"Come back to bed for a little while," she said.

He swallowed, and then flopped down on his side of the bed. He gave her a goofy smile that put her heart at ease. "I have the strangest dreams," he said, holding his arms out to her. She settled into them, pulling the covers up to his chest to try and warm him up. He pressed a sloppy kiss to her forehead. "Sorry about that."

She looked up, gauging his mental state. He was doing his best to pretend to be fine, but she sensed an underlying anxiety. He was freaking out a little. She kissed his cheek, pretending she had no idea what was going on in his head. "I'll feel much better when this whole thing is over."

"You and me both."

She decided to push a little, now that he seemed more or less rested. "Do you see them often?"

His jaw tightened and his eyes flickered away. "Not… often. Just occasionally. I saw them in the cave, after the ghost let me go. It's just my imagination running wild."

He was reluctant to say that. Even as it left his mouth, Scully saw his doubt. She was curious, but unwilling to question him any further tonight. What did he really think was happening?

"I don't think I can get back to sleep," Scully admitted.

"Me neither. Do you want to raid the fridge?"

"I'm starving."

He went to the window, bending over his suitcase, and for the first time she noticed how banged up his torso was. He looked like he had gone a few rounds with a professional boxer. She left the bed and circled him, making sure none of his wounds were indicative of internal bleeding. She would drag him to the hospital if she had to.

"Would you stop doing that? I feel like I'm going to spontaneously combust." Mulder grabbed her shoulders and scooted her back a few feet, tugging his shirt on.

She took another look at his nose. "Just be glad that's not a bad break."

"I think I came through it pretty good, considering I'm still alive."

"You seem determined to change that," Scully grumbled.

It looked like he would say something mean in return, but his face softened at the last second. He gave her one of those sad looks that played across his eyes like a classic painting, venturing closer to her. His voice was low and serious. "I'm not trying to get myself killed here. You know that."

She wanted to comfort him, to take back what she had said, but she did the opposite. She needed to get this out. "Do I? You're acting like your life doesn't matter, Mulder."

"I'm trying to help these spirits," he objected, his voice taking on an aggressive edge. "I have an obligation to them."

"But you don't! You can just walk away from this!" She wished she could express everything she felt for this case, but only the worst of her thoughts came out. "You are not the next messiah! The only duty you have is the one you assign yourself!"

"I'm giving myself this one," he responded, taking on that irritating, matter-of-fact tone he had. "I have the right to put my life on the line for anything I choose."

"What about me?" Her response came out much sadder than she expected, and it tugged at her insides, producing a sudden, bleak look into their future. How many times would they have this argument? How many times would he put his life in danger pursuing some mystical force?

He just stared at her, the force of their argument dying in his eyes.

She backed away from him. "What about us?" she went on.

"This _is_ us," he said quietly.

"No, Mulder, this is just you. You go off on your own with no regard for your life, and I'm left chasing after you, never knowing if you'll live, or if you'll end up on life support. I come second to you – it's always this first. It's always the chase."

"That's not true," he objected, reaching out for her. He shrunk back when she dodged his hand. His eyes were pained. "Do you really believe that?"

"Prove me wrong. Come home with me."

She knew what he would say before he said it, so she gave him no time to respond. She started packing her bag, glancing up occasionally to see the indecisive look on his face. It hurt to know that he wouldn't give this up, that getting himself killed in pursuit of some nonexistent truth would always take precedence over her. It hurt to know that the person she had chosen to spend her life with was incapable of choosing her in the same way.

She was suddenly filled with grief.

It spoke to the future, and when she imagined herself in ten years, in fifteen or twenty years, she didn't want to be sitting by a phone, waiting for a call from him. She didn't want to be trekking through a cave, watching him walk blindly to his death.

He followed her down the stairs, holding his hands out like he wanted to say something but never quite getting it out. Gene was waiting for them at the bottom.

"I have a theory about who the second ghost is," Gene announced.

Scully stopped, looking between the two men. Mulder was still giving her a sad puppy dog face, and Gene was meandering between excitement and uncertainty. She saw the same excitement flash in the eyes of her lover, and she knew what he was going to do.

"Stay here. Help the ghosts. Do what you want," she said.

She headed for the door, but Mulder appeared, slamming it shut just as she was pulling it open. He leaned into her, whispering. "Don't do this right now. You know I can't abandon them. Why are you acting like this?"

It was a good question. It struck a chord deep inside, but the fury of her emotions overwhelmed it. Everything in her heart told her to leave, to go home and to forget about Mulder and his stupid quest, but she also sympathized with him. She loved him. When she looked at him, she wanted to stand by his side, to be his partner again, to keep him from making stupid decisions and believing everything he was told. She wanted that, but she couldn't act on it. She felt like she was being blocked. Her words were locked up. She could only say the worst possible thing.

"Loving you is killing me," she said simply.

His hand fell from the door and that sad look became devastation. It hurt to see him stare at her like that, like she had just stabbed him, like his world was crumbling around him. She should have apologized. She should have wrapped her arms around him and begged for him to forget this had ever happened, but she opened the door instead.

She walked down the front path, tears forming in her eyes. Out of nowhere, the world started to shift, and the dark residential neighborhood became a forest. She could hear the leaves rustling, feel the wind touching her hair, smell the sweet honeysuckles growing within the underbrush. It was a peaceful place, but seeing it startled her so much that she almost fell. It snapped her out of the emotional trance she had been in. She twisted around, seeing the house and the forest flashing before her eyes.

In one image, Mulder was staring at her, incredulous, and in another, she was viewing an old wooden cabin in broad daylight, and a young man was watching her from within.

"Mulder… something is happening!" she shouted.

Finally she locked onto reality. She saw Mulder rushing toward her. He was looking around, panicked. "What is it? Did you see something?"

"No I… I did… I saw…" She was out of breath. Her lungs felt cold. Suddenly the night of sleep she had gotten was gone, and she was exhausted again. It was like she had been running for ages. "Mulder I think… I think I… I need a hospital."

His eyes were full of the kind of fear that had plagued their lives for years. "Talk to me, Scully. Tell me what's happening. Tell me what you saw."

She felt it suddenly, and so forcefully that it jerked her forward. She saw a meadow flashing before her eyes. She saw the young man again, standing slightly behind her, his hands bathed in blood. She felt a blade entering her back, brushing her spine, impacting her so harshly that her knees buckled. Ghostly arms caught her as she sunk to the ground.

The meadow vanished again, and she was back on the sidewalk with Mulder. She was in his arms, struggling to keep her eyes open while he twisted her body around. He was running both hands over her back and chest, searching desperately for something. It was all unreal to her.

"Easy," he said, his voice coming in and out of focus. "Tell me what's wrong. Just talk to me. Scully, tell me where it hurts."

She stared up at him, experiencing clarity for the first time since their argument had begun. Her raging emotions had faded, and she was left with all the awful things she had said to him. "I'm sorry," she whispered. "I don't know… why I said that."

"Apologize later," he snapped, still searching her. "What hurts?"

"My back," she moaned, arching away when his hands ran over the wound. He paused there, looking confused. "Mulder, put pressure on the wound."

"There is no wound, Scully."

"It's right there, right where your hand is!"

"There's nothing here," he insisted, though she felt his fingers digging into the fresh gash. She tried to move his hand, but he was stronger than her. He held his ground. "Scully, relax. Hey, trust me right now. I'm telling you that you're fine."

"I'm not fine! I'm dying!"

"Listen to me," Mulder said, wrapping his arms tightly around her to stop her from escaping. She gave up her squirming. "I felt the same thing in the caves. It felt like I was stabbed in the back, but there was nothing there. It was how the young woman died. She was stabbed in the back."

She struggled for breath, "I saw the second ghost. He stabbed me."

Mulder shook his head. "No, he was trying to save her."

"Mulder… I think he was the murderer."

For a moment she saw confusion and confliction in his eyes, and then she fell unconscious. She woke to him shaking her violently, his voice shaking like a child's. He smiled desperately when she was looking at him again, mouthing words, but making no sounds.

"I think he… I think he killed me," Scully went on. "That bastard."


	27. Shameful

**Shameful.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 23, 2010.**

She woke up on a couch, blankets tucked around her body. She was in a living room, with men lounging in chairs on either side of her. Mulder was flipping through the channels on an old TV, and Gene was writing something in a journal. She felt dazed, but otherwise unharmed. She shifted around to grope at her back, finding smooth skin rather than a gaping wound.

Mulder looked up when she moved, a cute smile on his face. He sunk from his chair to the side of the couch, taking her hand and kissing the back of it. "How do you feel?"

"Confused," she responded croakily.

"You had a run in with our ghosts. It tends to be confusing."

"I was… I was stabbed. What happened to the wound?"

"It was…" Mulder glanced at Gene, cringing at his own words. "Paranormal in nature."

"So I wasn't stabbed?"

"You were, but it was just a cruel joke on their part. It was all in your head."

She dug her fingers into her back, feeling a knot in her flesh. It was responding to a wound it thought she had received. Just thinking of it made her shiver.

"I think I know what happened to you." Mulder put his hand over hers, his fingers smoothing over the previous sight of her wound. "I think… I think we lived out the last conversation our ghosts had. Pieces of it, anyway." He rested his chin over his hand for a moment, and then sat back on his knees. "Gene dug up the story on them while you were out."

Scully looked at the scientist, having lost most of her loathing for him. He seemed chummy enough with Mulder, and he had made up for leaving him by coming back to get him. He still seemed a little flighty, but she was lying on his couch at the moment. She had to be diplomatic.

"Tell me the story," she said quietly.

"Well, now that we know, er, roughly how the girl died, I was able to ask better questions. I don't have names or anything, but I contacted John and got in touch with the local tribe leaders. They let me interview some of their elders."

"Elders are responsible for the passing on of oral history," Mulder said. He stroked her hair back, though his mind seemed to be far away.

Gene glanced at him, and then went on. "I spoke to one in particular – the only one who didn't hang up on me, actually – who heard a story by chance in his youth, from another tribe."

"Get to the ghosts, please," Scully said.

Mulder spoke quietly, ominously. "They withheld most of the details, but the story is pretty straightforward. We know the ghosts lived in a cabin by a meadow, with a river passing behind it. We know that they were siblings – the elder provided that part – and that they died in a shameful way. Based on what we experienced earlier, I think the brother may have killed the sister, perhaps to keep her from leaving. Either someone killed him, or he killed himself."

"I don't see how that helps us free them."

"The elders told me where the bodies were buried," Gene cut in. He grimaced a little. "I was threatened with the wrath of nature if I dare disturb them, but at least I know where they are."

"Gene here took one for the team," Mulder said. He stood up, holding out his hand for her. "Come on. We're going on a body hunt."

She stared at his hand, unsure. "Are you sure I should go?"

"You didn't really get stabbed. Man up."

She twisted her lips, glad for his childish humor. It was nice to see him back to his old self. "I mean, are you sure you don't want to go alone and howl at the moon?"

He crouched down again, suddenly in her face. He pressed a quick kiss to her lips, giving her an adorable look, successfully blending seriousness and playfulness. "I need you to be my partner again, Scully. I'm helpless without you."

She took his hand, smiling, and stood up. She felt sore, like there was still a knife wiggling around in her back, but she had to convince herself there was nothing there. Mulder led her to the front door, leaning into the frame for a moment, gazing at the van, before he called over to Gene. "Can I have the keys to the spy wagon?"

Gene joined them by the door, the keys locked securely in his hand. "I have to drive. Government property. Sort of."

Scully followed them, glancing around at the neighborhood. She could remember what had happened clearly – the images of trees, the young man staring back at her from the cabin. She he no solid way to explain it.

"Hey, we're going to desecrate a body," Mulder said from the passenger's seat, smiling at her. "Just like old times, huh?"


	28. Sacrifice

**Sacrifice.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 23, 2010.**

Mulder spun around, trying to find the closest pair of oak trees. Everything looked the same in the fresh dawn light – massive trees, haloed in sunshine, connecting in a web of leaves fifty feet above them. It went on like that in every direction, with gentle hills breaking up sections of the valley. He wasn't even really positive they were in the right part of the woods, let alone where he should put his shovel to dig up centuries-old bodies.

"We should have brought the elder," Gene commented. He was gazing up one of the trunks, squinting, and a sudden excitement erupted in his eyes. "Have you heard the stories about the terror birds, Fox? They were rumored to nest in these woods at one point."

He forgot what he was looking for immediately, joining Gene and gazing up into the tree. "Do you think those scrape marks could be signs of perching?"

"Guys, focus," Scully said. She whacked Mulder lightly on the back with her shovel, pointing to a cluster of oak trees. "Do you think that looks like the one the elder described? It has three trunks and low branches. Or perhaps that one next to it."

"I think they all look like the one she described," Mulder responded dryly, dragging his shovel along as he followed her. "She basically described an oak tree."

Scully glanced back at him, smiling. "Hmm. I wonder whose idea this was."

"Yeah, yeah, kick him while he's down," Mulder responded.

Gene, who had just noticed he was alone at the terror bird perch, came running toward them. His shovel jumped and clattered along the ground. "Hey, I really think we should go back and see if the elder will come with us. She might be able to find this place."

"She heard a story about a story that someone else heard through the grapevine," Scully said.

"Pessimism is the cousin of failure," Mulder pointed out. "I get the feeling your heart isn't in this. Since when did you start hating nature, Scully?"

"I don't hate nature, I just hate wandering around these woods for no reason. There are hundreds of oak trees here, and any one of them could be the ceremonial oak the elder told us about. And even if we found it, there's no guarantee that the bones are still there. Someone could have dug them up, or maybe they weren't even buried there in the first place. Maybe the whole story was made up so Gene would stop calling the reservations!"

Mulder shrugged, letting her objections roll right off his shoulders. He was hesitant to push her after the incident at the house. "If you want to try something else, I'm all ears."

She sighed. "I think we should go to the library and check the local records. There has to be some kind of documentation of the history here before it was settled."

"It's sounding a lot like you believe in ghosts, Scully."

"Don't start with me, Mulder."

"How about we split up?" Gene asked. "Fox and I can keep searching the woods, and you can go look at the library, Scully."

She gave him a sour expression, but before she could burst his bubble, Mulder intervened. "How about you two go get the elder – or someone who knows where this tree is – and work on locating those bones while I look through the records at the library? I've seen both of their faces, so I know what to look for. Besides, the library has air-conditioning."

Scully smirked. "You're really going to leave me here with him?"

"Tell her about the terror birds," Mulder said. "She loves cryptozoology."

"That's not a legitimate field of science," Scully said blandly.

Mulder started back toward the car, using his compass to make sure he was headed in the opposite direction of their approach. He was pursued by his two companions. "See? You said bringing a compass was stupid. I should make you guys find your own way."

"We'll drop you off at the car rental place on Cedar Street," Gene said, catching up. He lowered his voice, leaning in a little. "We can talk about the terror birds later."

Scully came to his other side. "I have a better idea. Gene can work on finding the bones and you and I can go to the library."

"Gene is green."

"He's going on a walk with an old woman," Scully said, giving the scientist a hard look. "You can handle that yourself, right?"

Gene was caught in the spotlight. He nodded reluctantly.

"See? He can handle it."

"Gene, blink twice if you're under duress."

"I'm staying with you, Mulder. End of discussion."

"Fine, fine."

When they got to the van, Mulder slid into the back, surprised when Scully sat beside him. She watched him intently for a moment. "What year is it?"

"Did you hit your head when you slipped back there?"

"Why are we going to a library? We can google from home."

His neck prickled. She was right about that, but he wanted to go anyway. "Like you said, they could have historic documents pertaining to our ghosts. Everything isn't accessible online."

"Is that the only reason, Mulder?"

"Why would there be another reason?"

She frowned, and then shrugged, dropping the topic completely. She kept looking over at him during the ride, trying to read him, but he did his best to keep his expression neutral. He was trying to figure out his own motivations. He had dreamt of the library when he was taken. He had gone there to find an image of the woman, to put a name to her face, but it was all in his imagination. He had to confirm that to himself, because the visions still seemed real.

Gene dropped them off at the rental place, handing Scully a laminated card. "I have historic document privileges here. Please, treat the books with respect."

"Of course," Scully responded. For once she wasn't glaring at him.

When they got to the library, Mulder took a moment to gaze at the grand front entrance. It was completely flat. In his dream, he had stumbled up the stairs in the pouring rain. He was already comforted, even before he stepped up to the door and saw a completely different layout.

"This place is fancy," Scully commented as they cross the front room. It seemed to be divided into sections, with a wide spiral staircase going up the middle. Some workers sat behind elegant wooden desks, gazing into their books. It reminded Mulder of the lobby of a five star hotel, not a public library. Scully elbowed him, smiling, "I have a good feeling about this place."

Mulder followed her, a little too dazed to walk on his own. He was put off by her enthusiasm, by the beauty of this place. It seemed more like a dream than the first library. But how would he prove that to himself? He had caused Scully enough anxiety in the last few days – she didn't need to see him babbling about being in a dream world.

Unless he really was.

He was glad that he recognized none of the faces in the library. He must have made up the employees and the patrons when the ghost was playing with him. He had used faces he had seen on the streets, people whose names he did not know, and he would never know.

Scully approached a desk near the back, by a set of stairs that led almost straight down into a marked restricted area. She presented the library card to the man guarding it, and after a quick scan, he got up to unlock the door for them. He looked extraordinarily bored with his job. His shoulder nudged Mulder's as he walked back around them to flop down in his chair.

"How did you find this section so fast?" Mulder asked as they descended the stairs. He had to hold onto the railing, fearing he would trip and drag her down with him.

She laughed. "I was looking at the signs, Mulder. Have you not been listening this whole time? I was pointing them out to you while we walked."

"Sorry." He landed hard on the bottom, flashing her a quick, reassuring smile to knock the worry out of her eyes. "I was thinking about the terror bird again."

The historical documents section was a cool sixty degrees, with air so dry he started licking his lips before they passed the first archway. Each document, or set of documents, had its own special case, with plastic sleeves covering the stand-alone papers, and zipped bags protecting the books. Some of them sat up on stands, displayed in cases with careful instructions on their handling. Several of them had notes instructing curious viewers to ask the guard for help handling them.

Scully went from shelf to shelf, calling out the names of old texts and manuscripts like she was giving him her Christmas list. He walked more slowly, coming down an aisle of old books and looking over each title. Some of them were simply intriguing for their age, and others displayed artwork iconic to their time periods.

Only one stole his attention the moment he laid eyes on it.

It was a ledger, as flat and bulky as an atlas, and as elegantly created as a silk dress. It sat alone near the back of the room, its case illuminated by soft lights on either side, rather than directly above it. It was a list of names, hundreds, maybe thousands long, with each entry written in a different script. The title was in French, and the columns began eerily with 'original' and ended with 'integrated.' Some of the original places were blank, some had illegible handwriting, and some simply contained letters and symbols, but all of them had an entry for the integrated column.

Scully came to his side after he had been staring at it for some time. She leaned into his shoulder, her eyes skimming the page, and then she sighed. "They must have used this to keep a record of the Native American names after they changed them."

"It was written a few years before Rousseau and his team came through," Mulder commented.

"There was no French settlement here during that time."

"I know." Mulder leaned over the glass, wishing he could turn the pages. "It's weird, huh? Why would they make a ledger like this? I mean, think about it. The year is 1647. Small French settlements are starting to encroach on the territory that will someday be known as the US. British colonies are spreading across the eastern shore of the continent. French explorers are probing southward to expand the fur trade. Native Americans are dying from European diseases, French-funded wars, and famine because of the shortage of available prey. Turmoil rocks North America. Everyone is just fighting to survive and to make their way in this part of the world – so why would they take the time to make this book? They could barely survive the winter, and yet they were keeping documents?"

Scully bit her lip, leaning in a little more. She squinted. "What if they were keeping track of Native American labor? If they were employing the natives to help them get furs, they would have to have some sort of ledger to pay them, or to track their contributions."

"But this integration column… it seems like they were trying to initiate these people into their society, but what society would that be?"

"I don't know, Mulder."

Suddenly it came to him. "I never finished reading the journal."

Her expression changed from curiosity to uncertainty in a split second. "That journal was messing with your head. Gene told me all about it."

"It wasn't the journal, it was the ghost."

"You said it scared you."

"I said… he has a way with words."

"You meant to say that you were afraid."

He put his hands on her shoulders, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "Okay. You caught me. The symmetry between his journal and what I encountered in that cave was pretty terrifying, but that doesn't mean I can leave it unfinished. It might contain more information about the ghosts, or a way to get them out of our heads." He sensed her doubt building up, so he did his best to divert her thoughts. "We're already down here, so let's get what we came for."

She shrugged his hands off, glancing around. "I'll look for photo albums."

"I'll look for… something to explain this integration thing."

For hours, the two of them scoured the basement level. Mulder created a stack of books in the corner and settled in to read them, while Scully laid out massive picture books and flipped through them, diligently going over each and every photo in search of the man she had seen. Mulder went through the English books first, frustrated when they gave him nothing, and then he started skimming the French ones, doing his best to translate them. When he came to the books written in local tongues, he gave up completely.

He sat in his little den, surrounded by books, for a long time before he saw a book on the shelf across the aisle. It was staring right at him, waiting for him to notice it.

It was a tiny photo album, bound in leather and protected only by a plastic baggie. It was marked as 'unsorted,' with its tattered edges and faded photographs, but as soon as he opened it he felt that he had picked up the right thing. It gave him a warm feeling in his stomach.

He went back to his hole and sunk into it, turning the first pages and breathing the smell of old parchment. The photographs were secured with dots of dried ink, some of them barely clinging to their pages, but the faces within them mesmerized Mulder. Someone had photographed the local tribes in the early 20th century, showing masses of sad looking faces dressed up and standing in a line. The more pages he turned, the older the pictures got, until they were replaced with sketches. He saw wooded areas, fertile fields, and family gatherings.

And then he saw her face.

She appeared first at a feast, hovering at the back, like she didn't belong there. Her face was sullen even when the others seemed to be enjoying themselves. He found her again a few pages later, on an image within the image. She was painted on the wall of someone's home, and the family in the drawing was gazing up at her image, a mix of reverence and fear in them. Further along, he found a series of images with tiny pieces of paper attached – English text identified them as 'religious images,' but there was nothing else to qualify them.

The first sets of images showed a young girl being bathed in blocky, dappled colors. She donned a gown of some sort and she was surrounded by celebrating people. The next page showed the celebrating people burning something in a big pot, with the girl looking on. The third page had three images on it, and his eyes moved between them in quick succession. The girl was standing, looking at the burning pot, with what appeared to be her family alongside her, and then one of the men pulled a blue object from a basket. In the last image the man plunged the object into the young girl, her face showed agony, and her family seemed to be holding a vigil.

The final image was of a happy village, with crops growing and children running around. He thought it must be some sort of harvest ritual – a human sacrifice for the good of the whole tribe. He looked over it again and again, drawing parallels between it and their current situation.

"Scully, come over here and look at this."

She glanced up from her picture books, rubbing her neck. "Did you find something relevant, or are you going to show me a picture of the Loch Ness monster?"

He beckoned her, sliding his books away to give her room. When she was sitting beside him, flipping through the images like he had, he let out his theory. "Look at the girl in this picture. She's wearing a white dress – in my visions, I saw you in a white dress, with a wound just like the one she receives in the last panel."

"Well, considering her waist is a large rectangle, that could very well be her leg he's stabbing," Scully pointed out, though she seemed deeply interested in the pictures.

"What if our ghosts were supposed to take part in this ritual, but something went wrong? What if she didn't want to die? Or he didn't want her to die?"

"I would say he failed in that respect. He was the one who killed her."

"It's a crime of passion, Scully. He killed someone dear to him before she could be used by others. Maybe he didn't believe in their rituals."

"Or maybe she wanted to be a part of it, and he took that opportunity away in a fit of rage."

"You have to admit that it fits. I mean, these images could have been produced around the same time as their deaths."

"But you still can't explain the ledger."

"I'll give you another layer for that one, Scully. How did these images even survive all this time? We fought two wars, negotiated over territory, and uprooted the indigenous peoples of this area. This library wasn't built until the 1950s, and this picture book can't be much older than that. Someone preserved these and collected them here. Someone put these drawings – these almost four hundred year old drawings – in this book."

"How about one more mystery, to top it off?" she offered, hopping up and holding out her hand to him. She led him over to her picture books, turning a few pages and pointing faces out to him. "Do you see that young man? He was the one I saw at Gene's house."

Mulder leaned in, squinting, and adrenaline shot through his veins. He was looking at another tribal lineup of sad faces, this one broken up by a very familiar scowl. It was the mourning boy. "That's the one I saw in my visions. He was in a meadow with the girl, holding her. He carried her into a cabin and then left with his knife."

"I found him two more times," she said, bringing his attention to a more modern book of photography. "But it's not where you might think."

"This book is from the 1800s," Mulder murmured.

She looked up, her eyes bright with curiosity, and nodded. "It is. I found an image of the boy in the background of another picture. Here." She pointed it out to him, sitting back so he could see.

It was a group of young men posing near the mouth of a cave, looking weary from travel. Within the depths of the cave, Mulder saw another figure clearly. It was a man, standing away from the others, staring at them with a monstrous malice.

"On the original photograph, the photographer wrote this note." She tapped the page. "It lists the names of the men posing, and also 'unknown Indian.'"

"He had no idea he was snapping a photo of a ghost," Mulder said. He looked around them. "You have another picture of him?"

"Well, this one isn't exactly a picture, but I deduced that it was him." She went to a book of sketches – copies of original documents, bound by leather and laminated. She flipped to the back and showed him a massive group sketch of a tribe, this one lacking the sad-face pose he had become accustomed to. Instead, the people were going about their everyday business. "Look at this family in the back. Does this look like the woman you saw?"

He followed her fingers, examining the little sketched family relaxing in the back of the photo. His ghosts were younger in this image, but he still recognized the beauty of the girl, and the hardened determination of the boy. It was truly incredible to see them like this.

"I have a hunch about their identities," Scully said. "We already know they lived around the time that the exploration team set out, so that puts them in the early 1600s. This drawing was supposedly created in 1640, about ten years before Rousseau and his men encountered the ghosts. They were children at the time it was drawn, so it had to be at least five years later that they were killed."

She hopped up, dragging out an even larger book. It flipped open with a massive thud. "This is documentation of the moon cycles as seen from Jamestown. Please tell me your picture books have a moon in them somewhere."

Mulder went back to grab the book, handing it to her.

"Right here. It was a half moon, and these symbols indicate it was waxing."

"Okay, so they were killed when the moon was waxing sometimes around 1645. That still gives you twelve waxing moons."

"Think about it, Mulder. This ritual is a harvest ritual. You don't do those in the winter, or the fall. You do them in the summer and the spring."

"So they were killed between spring and summer, 1645. Excellent time of death, Dr. Scully."

"I'm not done yet," she responded, holding up her finger to him. "Most of the trees in the ravine we were searching weren't old enough to have seen that year."

"So… we're looking for the oldest tree in the forest?"

"Very nice connection, Mr. Mulder."

"If they cut it down between then and now, we're screwed. New growth would produce roots that would send any bones down into the soil."

"One step at a time."

"That's my line," Mulder responded. He started closing books and returning them to their shelves. "Still, that forest has hundreds of trees that old enough to fit the bill scattered all over it. We can't dig them all up and we don't have anything to go on as far as appearance. The elder was still basically describing an oak tree."

"Maybe she'll remember something peculiar about it."

"Or maybe she won't, and those bones are lost forever."

She turned on him, frowning. "I'm usually the one pointing out the logical fallacies to you. What gives? Is your head bothering you again?"

"It's nothing. Let's get out of here before we freeze to death." She stayed where she was, waiting for him to go on, so he grabbed both of her shoulders. He kissed her cheek. "Scully, I love you. You're a genius. Putting all that together is the most impressive thing I've seen in the last decade. I think you deserve a break after that. What do you say?"

"Stop trying to distract me."

"I saw a Dairy Queen down the road."

"You're buying."

He directed her to the exit. "Yes, dear."

"Wait. You left your books on the floor," she turned, about to go back to them.

Mulder stopped her. "I got it. Wait for me upstairs. Entertain the security guard. I wanted to sneak a butt scratch in anyway."

She smiled. "Don't break anything."

He started gathering up his books, carrying them back to their rightful homes. He came across a few more interesting titles, but he resisted the temptation to grab them. Perhaps he would come back here someday and steal Gene's library card again. He could try to find photographic evidence of the terror bird, buried in these endless piles of paper.

When he left the last aisle to walk to the exit, he found that he was not alone. There was a little old woman just making it to the bottom of the stairs. Her face was strikingly familiar.

"Oh, hi, sorry," she said, noticing him standing there. "I come down here to sort the papers. I didn't realize there was anyone perusing."

He was trying to place her face, but his mind was starting to cloud. "Um, no, it's fine. I was just… I was just leaving."

She stared at him, not seeming to notice his fascination with her. There was a weird, glittering happiness in her eyes. "Why, aren't you a sweet young man? It's been so long since I've been able to talk to anyone. Won't you stay and tell me what you were looking for down here?"

He felt like a mouse trapped in her eyes. He walked around her to the stairs, never breaking away from the look she was giving him. "No, uh, I have someone waiting for me."

"Oh, that pretty girl up there? Best not to keep her waiting."

He started up the stairs, doing his best to keep his eyes forward. He was halfway up when he felt an intense chill. It made every hair on his body stand straight up, and a prickle of anxiety ran through his spine. He felt like someone was behind him – directly behind him – looking over his shoulder. He felt their curiosity, their intensity, like mist settling on his skin.

He turned around quickly, prepared to fight if it came down to it, but there was no one there. He was alone again. He came back down the stairs, glancing into the other rooms.

"Hello?" he called, jogging down the aisles and looking down each of them. The whole basement was empty. He stopped at the back, watching his breath billow out in a cloud of frost. Everything in him was unsettled. His stomach was twisting into knots.

He knew where he had seen her before. She was in his visions. She had been the one to come to his table in the dream library. She had given him a card because she thought he was a drug addict.

He walked stiff-legged back to the stairs, running up them and slamming the door behind him. Scully had been saying something to the security guard, and both of them looked up, startled, as the sound rang out through the library.

"Did you see that old woman leave?" Mulder demanded.

Scully looked around. "Old woman?"

"She came by you. She went downstairs. She said she works here."

"I didn't see anyone, Mulder. Come on, we need to call Gene back. He left me three messages."

Mulder looked at the door, beyond spooked about what he had just encountered. Was it the ghosts from the cave messing with him again, or was he truly going crazy?

Scully frowned. "You okay?"

"Yeah I'm… I'm fine. Let's get out of here."


	29. Flooded

**Flooded.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 23, 2010.**

They met Gene in the forest, right where they had left him nearly eight hours earlier. It was now midday and the sun was beating them all to death. It was humid, and every step reminded Scully how sore she was from the caves. Still, there was new hope in this hour, because Gene was not alone. He had the oldest son of the elder with him, standing a daunting six and a half feet tall with both arms folded behind his back. He seemed tranquil. Gene had mentioned him in his messages, claiming the man could take them to the ceremonial tree without issue.

Mulder walked right up to him like he had known him his entire life. "You must be Harris," Mulder said, holding out a hand to the man. The stranger shook it, looking a bit surprised by the greeting. Mulder clasped him on the shoulder. "I met your cousin, John. We went into the caves together a few days ago."

"He mentioned you," Harris responded, blinking like he, too, had seen a ghost. "He was worried for your life. I'll tell him that you are doing well."

"Do you believe in ghosts, Harris?"

Without hesitating, the towering man nodded. "Of course."

Mulder glanced at Scully, grinning, and said, "And what inspires this belief of yours?"

Harris glanced at her, probably sensing that Mulder was trying to make a point. Scully smiled, folding her arms over her chest, and said, "I'm curious, too."

"The dead always walk among us," Harris said simply.

With that, the walk began. Harris led them through the woods, occasionally stopping to make sure he knew where he was. Scully grew accustomed to the endless chatter of Gene, who was, as the days passed, become less and less annoying to her. She focused on Mulder, though, because he was being uncharacteristically silent. He watched the ground as he walked.

She ventured closer to him, nudging his shoulder. When he looked up, his eyes were a million miles away. "Hey," she whispered. "You okay?"

"I'm fine."

"I'm so tired of you saying that."

He blinked, actually seeing her this time. "I was just thinking about our ghosts. It must be so lonely for them, being stuck here all these years."

She marveled at the depth of his feelings. He was experiencing genuine empathy for them. It bled through his eyes. It swam through his every word. It was one of the things that she truly loved about him, and one of the things that constantly got him into trouble.

"It won't be much longer now," she responded softly.

He looked over, smiling, and held her hand for a moment, running his thumb along her palm.

When their guide stopped suddenly, she drew her hand away. Harris was staring into a patch of trees, turning his compass this way and that. He looked back at them, frowning, and held out his hand. "Does anyone have an extra compass?"

Mulder handed his over. Scully rolled her eyes at his satisfied expression.

"No, this is no good," Harris said. He held it out to them, and Scully watched, fascinated, as the arrow spun randomly. He showed his as well, and it was spinning in the same way. They were mirroring each other.

Mulder seemed grim suddenly. He took his compass back, watched it spin for a moment, and then looked around them. "This must be the place."

She frowned. He started walking around them, watching his compass, and then he walked off. She glanced at Gene and the guide, wondering if they knew what was going on in his head, but they followed him without question. She ended up in the back, scanning the trees for the source of the magnetism that was driving the compasses nuts.

Mulder stopped between two trees, setting his compass on the ground. They all gathered around it, watching it spin like a helicopter blade until the metal finally detached from the center and went still. She could hear a buzzing coming from the other compass, now resting in Harris' pocket.

"This is where it's the strongest," Mulder said. "It must be where the bones are buried."

"Gene tells me you believe these bones are the reason for the disappearances," Harris said, unfolding his shovel and joining Mulder as he started to dig. "It is generally against our beliefs, and against the beliefs of the tribes who lived here before us, to disturb the dead, but it is also abhorrent to force a spirit to remain here. I will help you with this."

Mulder's eyes ticked up for a split second. "Glad to have you."

Shortly after the two of them started digging, Scully's cellphone began to vibrate. She checked the name that popped up, her heart stuttering when she saw 'home.' She stepped away to answer.

"Iden? Is everything okay?"

"Yeah. Katie and her dad got to go back home. Her dad wanted to know if I should go with them."

Scully glanced at the others, noticing a curious glance from Mulder. She turned the other way. "Um, yes. I should be back soon though. I'll pick you up as soon as we're back in Virginia."

"Is Fox okay?"

"He's fine. I'm looking at him right now."

"I told you he was safe."

She smiled, looking back again. "You did. I should have trusted you."

"Just stay away from the river."

Scully almost brushed those words off, but as they settled in her mind, the hairs on the back of her neck stood up. "What was that?"

"I had a dream about Fox in the river last night. It was weird, 'cause there was no water. I think it was just a normal dream, but… but just stay away from the river, okay?"

She forced herself to stay calm. "O-Okay. Be good, sweetheart."

It only took a little over an hour for them to encounter their first bone. Scully had taken to standing nearby, watching Mulder and thinking about a river without water in it, so when Harris made the announcement, she was ready to started receiving pieces of a skeleton. Mulder declared that it wasn't the ghosts', and Harris agreed. He lit the edge of a strange leaf on fire and ran it over the skull, setting it on top and letting the flame go out.

Scully studied Harris with unveiled interest, curious about his place in the religion of his people. She knew bits and pieces of the local customs from her time in the basement of the library – enough to know that they valued peace over war, understanding over condemnation.

"Can you repeat the name of your tribe to me again?" Scully asked him.

He looked up from his work, repeating the word in an elegant dialect she had never heard. It sounded like some of the other native languages she had encountered, but there was something vastly different about it. She could barely grasp the syllables.

"It means, roughly, People of the Low Forest. We came to this area shortly after the High Forest People were killed."

"What year was that?"

"It was sometime around 1650, but it is impossible to know for sure."

"The High Forest… they were the ones who used these trees in their rituals?"

"That is what my mother says."

"You make that sound like you're unsure."

"These practices were part of an older belief in the greater power of nature," Harris said. He paused in his digging, wiping the sweat from his brow. "I was not raised with that belief." He looked around, his eyes settling on her. "If this young girl had lived with my people, she would not be suffering as she is."

"You said the High Forest people died out. Do you know why?"

"The legend says their crops wilted, their water sources were contaminated with parasites, every seed they planted would not take to the ground, and the prey vanished from the trees." He spoke like he had recited that a thousand times, his voice ominous. "My mother says it is the curse of taking human life."

"Or failing to take it," Mulder said offhandedly.

Harris turned to him, scowling. "What do you mean by that?"

Mulder leaned against the wall, setting his shovel aside. "The young woman died before she could be sacrificed, and then her entire tribe died because of one bad harvest. Perhaps if she had been sacrificed, her people would have lived."

"It is just a legend," Harris said. "We have decided over the years that the tribe died out because of a failed settlement of foreigners. I am not sure if you found it in your research, but there is a ledger documenting what they were doing to the tribe."

"We found it," Scully cut in. "It was French, right? You mean they tried to establish a territory out here? If so, that's the only place it's documented."

"I guess they wanted to forget, so others would not know what they had done." Harris' voice grew darker. He looked at Mulder, his words jagged. "Killing others is never the way to secure your own prosperity."

"I know that," Mulder said, realizing that he might be offending the other man. He held up one hand, his tone evening out. "Believe me, I know that. I'm just saying, maybe their ritual really had a purpose. An entire race of people died when they didn't make that sacrifice." He looked up at her, rolling his hand. "Back me up on this, Scully. You said you thought our ghosts died sometime around 1645. They never completed the ritual for that year, so the harvest failed and the rest of the tribe died out. Rousseau and his team came to the area in 1650 – I remember him mentioning how dry and desolate it seemed outside of the cave, like the land was cured."

"Weather changes," Scully responded simply. "And Harris already said it was the French who killed those people."

"Right, but the weather just happens to become arid and inhospitable in a relatively lush area around the same time that an age-old ritual regarding the weather is foregone?"

She crouched, shaking her head. "Correlation does not equal causation."

"Freak weather or ancient curse, we need those bones," Mulder concluded. He seemed pleased with his own theories, so she left him to them. He kept prodding Harris about the history of his people, seeming genuinely fascinated by it. "When your people settled, did they see any signs of the ghosts? Did anyone go missing in the caves?"

Scully wandered away, giving the pile of bones near the hole a sidelong glance as she went. It was hard to see human remains outside of a lab. She had the urge to date them, to discover all she could about the death of the person they once belonged to, but she knew such disturbances were frowned upon by the natives of this area. She wanted to do all she could to respect that.

She circled the area, bracing her hands on the ancient tree trunks and looking up into their leaves. She wondered about the people who once lived here, who looked up at the same trees hundreds of years ago. She wondered if their fear for this curse, for the changes in the weather, dictated their lives. She thought of the young people who were sacrificed, as depicted in the drawings Mulder had discovered. She wondered how such a practice could come to be – how anyone could think to murder their own children in the hopes of bringing rain.

She realized that she was being followed by Gene at a distance. He kept looking back at the others, and then mimicking her interest in the trees, doing his best to make it appear that he was taking a casual stroll through the woods. She knew better.

"Is there something you wanted?" she asked.

He jumped a bit, nodding. "I wanted to ask you something about Mulder."

Scully looked to the two men digging the hole, amused to find that they were both loafing off. Mulder was in the middle of a tangent and Harris was listening diligently, nodding to every word. She was starting to believe Mulder could make friends anywhere.

"He's not crazy," she said, just to put it out there.

Gene smiled, laughing a little. "I just wanted to see if… do you believe in these ghosts?"

She considered him, reminding herself that he was a scientist, as she had been at one point. "I look at the facts before I decide anything. I think there's a pretty strong case that… ghosts are involved in this."

"I started shifting into cryptozoology when I got my grant for this cave," Gene admitted, coming a little closer. He leaned against the same tree trunk as her, also watching the others. "When I emailed him, I thought I was really stepping over a line, you know? I was finally acknowledging that something… something truly unknown could exist in this world. I was dead wrong about what it was, but… I think the result was the same."

"What result would that be?"

"I believe in ghosts." He gave a little laugh, like he thought he might be going insane, and then he reeled it in and looked at her bashfully. "I believe in ghosts now."

"Congratulations," she responded, keeping her voice monotonous. She didn't want to burst his bubble about the mysteries and conspiracies surrounding the greater unknown world. Believing could be a beautiful thing – it was beautiful in Mulder – but it also hurt him. Every time they ran into a brick wall, another cover-up, or people who misunderstood him, it hurt him a little more.

"Hey, guys! I think we found them!"

Scully and Gene rejoined the others at the site, where the hole had been deepened a little bit. Mulder started handing up bones, and as soon as Scully wrapped her fingers around a femur, she felt a cold jolt in her arm. She dropped it. Mulder caught it, looking at her incredulously. She withdrew from the hole, shaking out her hand. It felt like she had grabbed dry ice.

"You okay?" he asked, holding the bone in both hands.

"You didn't feel that?" Scully demanded.

He shrugged. "It feels sharp on the edges. Did it cut you?"

"No… it just…" she stared down at her hands, not understanding the tingling in her fingers. "Hand them to Gene. I can examine them up here."

His eyes stayed on her, even while he handed the femur to the biologist. She sat away from the hole, looking over each bone as Gene placed it in front of her. She reached out for them, but the memory of the cold in her hand kept her from touching them. He delivered the pieces of the spine last, just a few vertebrae at a time. Scully risked the cold again to rearrange them, finding nothing but the sensation of ordinary bone. It puzzled her.

When most of the pieces were out, Mulder climbed to the surface, followed quickly by Harris. Both men were dusty and sweaty, but it did not dull the serious purpose in their eyes. Mulder sat down beside her, panting a little, and pointed to the spine.

"Did you find a stab wound?"

"I found it. Here." She held up the bone, twisting it so he could see the indent in the back. "This is the third lumbar vertebra, right at the base of the lumbar curve. You can see the hole starting here on the transverse process, going all the way into the vertebral foramen. The weapon would have completely severed the spinal cord. She could have lived with paralysis, but the medicine of the time was not advanced enough to salvage this kind of wound. She would have died within minutes… she would have suffered."

Mulder took a deep breath, taking the bone and turning it around in his hands. He set it carefully on the ground. "When you had your vision… you said it was the second ghost that stabbed the young woman? What did you see in his eyes, Scully?"

She thought back, but the memory was blurry. She had been more focused on the blade twisting in her back than the face of the perpetrator. "I… I don't know. He looked angry, and sad. I think he might have been crying. Do you still think this was a crime of passion, Mulder? Do you think he killed her to prevent her from being sacrificed?"

"Maybe he tried to convince her to stay with him," Mulder said, running his finger over the top of the skull. It was caked with dirt and cracked along the top, but it was still recognizable as that of a young woman. "Maybe she wouldn't listen to him."

Harris joined them, speaking sadly. "If he could not have her, then neither could the harvest."

"So only one of them is a victim?" Gene said. He was standing by the hole, looking down into it. "We should only free the woman. Let the man stay there and suffer for what he did."

"He was a kid," Mulder said, surprising Scully with his defensive tone. "It was hundreds of years ago. He was a kid who was about to lose his sister, and he made a mistake. I think his time in the caves has been his atonement. Both of them should be able to move on from this."

"You're defending the killer?" Scully asked. She agreed with him on some level, but after seeing him jam a blade into her back, she was leaning toward Gene's assessment.

Mulder swallowed, going back to the hole. "His bones are someplace else. We have to find them."

"The caves," Gene responded softly. "That's what he's haunting, after all."

Harris seemed deep in thought. He only chimed in after Gene commented on the caves. He spoke directly to Mulder, his eyes showing his age. "I will get the bones from the cave. I know where they are. I have special access. The bones are located along a tourist path, just under a clay walkway."

Scully turned on him. "You knew about the bones the whole time? You knew the young man was the killer?"

"My mother told me the story before I came here today. It happened as you described it. He did not want to lose her, so he killed her. But you do not know how it ended. He did not go back into the caves for vengeance – he went there asking for forgiveness for what he had done. When no forgiveness came, he cut his own throat and laid in the stream – the stream that is now a clay path. She begged me to keep this from you."

"You were the one who talked about putting them to rest," Mulder said.

"I only knew a few pieces of the story, but now I see it in its entirety. You were right about his atonement. He has suffered enough, perhaps too much, for what he did."

"I can get those bones, and bring them here," Gene said, glancing at the skeleton of the young woman. "We can end this today. Right here in this clearing."

"I will show you to them," Harris murmured. He clasped Mulder on the back. "I am sorry if it seemed that I was untruthful with you, but I wanted to respect my mother's wishes."

XxX

When they were gone, Scully remained by the bones, setting them out in a neat line and placing the skull, sitting up, at the end. Mulder paced around for a little while, and then he took the first set of bones back down into the hole, covering it with dirt. His task consumed almost an hour. Scully thought about the narrative they had pieced together, fascinated with the crime, and appalled by it. She had forgotten that murder was always part of human history.

Mulder sat beside her, dusting his hands off. He was sweating and his palms were red from overusing the shovel, but he seemed mostly unburdened. He had that twinge of sadness – the same one she felt – resting on his brow, but it would soon be lifted.

"When the ghost was in my head," Mulder murmured, "I think she had a hard time understanding what killed her. It's why she made us feel it, too. She wanted to quantify it."

"Or she had no idea what she was doing," Scully added.

"Yeah. I think it was mostly my head making up the stories I saw. Maybe that's why she saved me. She thought I could help, because of the way I think."

"That doesn't explain what happened to the others."

Mulder picked at his shoe, his frown deepening. His voice was low and sad. "I think they might be dead, Scully. It sucks to think about it, but I think all of those people were killed. I'm not sure that the ghosts – either of them – knew that they were hurting people. By clinging to the good, to the holy, to the kind, they extinguished it. By longing for the light, they made it disappear. By wanting more, by taking more, they stopped people from coming altogether."

"Except those idiots who snuck in once the caves were closed," Scully pointed out.

His cheek pulled with a slight smile. "Yeah. Whatever happened to those cheeky spelunkers?"

"I think one of them smashed his nose in."

He was laughing, and then suddenly he wasn't. He looked to his left, seeing something that she didn't see, and his eyes grew serious. He scrambled to his feet, tugging her up with him. He pointed into the trees. "Scully, the cabin."

Just then, her phone rang. She answered it, squinting to try and see what Mulder was looking at. "There's nothing there, Mulder." She turned into the phone. "Hello?"

"It's Gene. We have the bones. We're bringing them back to you guys now."

"That's great." Scully turned, surprised to find Mulder running off into the woods. "Mulder! Where are you going? Mulder!" She sprinted after him, speaking breathless into the phone. "I think he's having a hallucination. Just get here."

She hung up, storing it in her pocket and trying to put on more speed. Mulder was bounding like a deer, intently focused on an empty patch of woods. She could hear him saying something, yelling something, but it was overwhelmed by the sound of them both tearing through the forest. He only stopped when they came upon a tangled mess of old boards, reminiscent of a structure.

As he came upon the other side of it, he disappeared into a holly bush.

"Mulder!" She pushed through it, recoiling from the sharp leaves. On the other side, Mulder was sitting up in a depression in the ground. When he saw her he started scrambling backward, and when she stopped, he stopped. He searched for something in his pockets. "Mulder? What are you doing? Hey, look at me. Mulder?"

She found herself in an awful scene. It was a river without water. A riverbed that had long dried up. She could hear Iden warning her about this over and over again.

Mulder had a knife in his hand. He was holding it in one shaking palm, sitting up on his knees, lurching backwards if she came close to him. He was sobbing, seemingly with no provocation. Every alarm went off in her mind.

"Mulder," she whispered, holding both hands up to him. "Talk to me. What's happening?"

"I can't stop," he responded, his voice contorted by his crying. He turned the knife around. She took a step closer, and he scrambled back again. "I can't stop. Stop me!"

She lunged for him, but as soon as she was close enough, he slashed at her. The knife tore a clean path through her forearm. She backed off, pressing her hand over the wound, shock rolling through her. She could not read his wild eyes. "Drop the knife, Mulder. Put it down! Put the knife down!"

He finally hit a wall of dirt, and he pressed the knife to his throat. He shut his eyes, tears rolling down his face. He held it there for several seconds.

"What else do you want?" Scully demanded, desperate to find any solution to this, even a paranormal one. "Let him go!"

His choked sobbing was quieted for a moment, and he stared at her. She knew shew as not looking at Mulder, but at someone else entirely. He struggled with his words. "She was… everything. How did this happen? How could this happen?"

Scully took the opportunity to creep closer. She dropped her voice down to a whisper. "Please, please don't hurt him. Please just let him go."

He stared at her with a sadness she could not understand. It was four centuries old. It was absolutely devastating. It was the mournful look of a man who had lost everything at his own hand. It was the crushing loneliness of someone who was barely an adult facing the ultimate punishment for his crimes. It was a flooded expression. He was drowning in it.

"How could this happen?" he whispered again.

Scully pulled out her phone, dialing without looking away from Mulder. She put it to her ear, listening for Gene's answer, and then speaking quietly and quickly to him. "Burn the bones now."

"What? We were-"

"Stop whatever you're doing and burn them now."

She hung up, dropping the phone back into her pocket. Mulder was still gazing at her, his mind a million miles away. She came a little closer to him, crouching down, still holding onto her arm. Blood dripped onto the dirt. Her head throbbed from her anxiety.

"You made a mistake," she murmured, holding out her hand, palm up, to him. Her entire arm was shaking. Seeing a blade so close to her lover's neck destroyed her nerves. "Hey, you made a mistake, but you can move on now. You've suffered long enough."

His eyes flashed into hers, and his voice boomed. "I should suffer for eternity!"

Scully flinched. The blade was back against his skin. It drew a thin line of blood that ran down into his collar. One more twist and it was all over. Her eyes were watering, and her voice came out as shaky as her insides felt. "Didn't you love her?"

He tilted his head, curious. "I… I loved her."

"Did she love you?"

"She loved me."

"She doesn't want you to suffer," Scully reasoned. "She was… she was so kind. She would forgive you for anything. She loved you."

He took trembling breaths, gasping, tears rolling down his face. He pressed the knife harder, producing a more serious spout of blood, and then the knife fell from his hands. He let out a wail, a terrible, terrible sound that rang through her soul. He bent over, slamming both hands into the ground. His tears covered the ground. His blood dropped down with them.

"I'm sorry," he gasped, sinking down and sobbing. His whole body shook. He started screaming, howling like a wounded animal. "I'm sorry! Forgive me!"

And then, just as his crying grew to a level that seemed impossible, the sound stopped. Mulder rolled over on his side, still captured by another soft cry. Scully rushed to his side, cupping her hand over the wound in his neck and pulling him protectively into her arms. She rested her face on his shoulder, gasping and trying to control her own emotions.

"Scully," he murmured.

"I'm right here," she responded, half-laughing, half-sobbing as he sat up in her arms. She stroked his hair back, knocking a leaf off of his collar. She hastily wiped tears from her cheeks, ignoring the blood smeared on her hand. "I'm right here, Mulder."

He smiled a gentle smile and sunk back into her hold. "Gene burned the bones. I can feel it… he's gone now."

"He's at peace," Scully agreed.

"Can we go home now?"

She laughed, leaning over him again, pressing a rough kiss to the side of his head. "Yes. Yes, we can go home. We can go home."


	30. Ghostly

**Ghostly.**

 **Glasgow, Kentucky.**

 **May 23, 2010.**

Mulder stood with Gene at the airport, considering everything he had experienced in the last week. It all felt like a bad dream, mixed with the devastation of loss. His ghost had left some of his pain behind, and Mulder was swimming in his grief. He had no choice but to empathize.

"He loved her so much," Mulder murmured. He touched the bandage around his neck, absently recalling how close he had come to bleeding out in that riverbed. "He didn't want to live on without her… even though he caused her death. I've never… I've never felt anything that strong. I don't think I'll ever forget it."

Gene put a hand on his shoulder. "When we were burning the bones… I swear I saw the woman in the trees. We were just sitting by the road, stacking twigs and lighting matches, and she was standing there watching us. I think she was waiting for him."

"You made sure hers were burned, too?"

"The crematorium returned the remains to Harris about fifteen minutes ago," Gene said, checking his phone. "I think he said they were returning them to the tree."

"Tell him to bury them in the meadow."

"It's weird," Gene said, crossing his arms over his chest. His eyes had a mystical veil over them. "I mean, we really came full circle. We brought them back to the last place they were happy, the last place where their lives made sense."

"I like to think they walk the world together now," Mulder murmured, a little hesitant to share that view. Gene gave him a curious expression, so he went on. "Maybe the afterlife is whatever we think it is. Maybe the happiest they'll ever be is just… together. It doesn't even matter where. One more day together. One day that goes on for eternity."

"That's beautiful."

Mulder clasped him on the back, seeing the boarding call for his plane pop up. "Scully will be waiting. I should get going."

"I'm glad to have met you, Fox," Gene said.

"We should do this again sometime. Without the ghosts."

"Right. Maybe the terror bird will make a comeback."

"We can dream," Mulder responded wistfully, heading toward the gate. He saw Scully beckoning him, a soft, patient smile on her face.

Scully wove her arm into his. He leaned over to kiss her cheek, cringing when he pulled the wound on his neck. "Ouch. Why didn't you do something about this?"

"You were at knifepoint, Mulder."

"At knifepoint, by my own hand."

"I tried. You gashed my arm. I think you deserve that little paper cut."

"Paper cut," he scoffed. "Three stitches, Scully."

"Twenty-seven," she countered.

He smiled at her, and she smiled back. His heart was momentarily lifted out of the haze the ghost left behind. When they finally made it to their seats, stuffed into a two-person row in the middle of the economy section, Scully took the window seat and removed the armrest from between them, leaning heavily into his shoulder. She turned her head into him, smiling.

"When we get home, I want you to take a dozen more profiling cases."

"Why?"

"I want you to suffer as much as I'm going to suffer at work."

"Of course." He kissed the top of her head, staring out the window. He could see little figures running all over the place. "I love you, Scully."

"I love you too, Mulder." She was quiet for several minutes. "Um… there's something I need to tell you. Promise you won't panic."

"What?"

"We sort of… Well, Iden is kind of… The furniture was… No, I'll tell you when we get there."

 **XxX XxX XxX**

He woke in the middle of the night, overwhelmed again by the storm of emotions the ghost had produced in him. He sat up for a while, sweating, trying to knead the sadness out of his head, until he finally left for the other room. He hung in the doorway momentarily, watching Scully sleep. She had her arms curled up under her face, her eyes shut as lightly as ever. Seeing her like that brought a smile to his face. She was safe, and alive, and they were home.

He sat in his office, his feet up on his desk, looking into a painfully bright computer screen. Frankie had jumped off the bed to come with him, and she sat up in the window, curious about his intentions. In the deadly silence between them, he sensed her questions.

"Something doesn't feel right," he admitted to her, his fingers hovering over the keyboard. "Something still feels… unsolved."

Frankie tilted her head.

"It was the librarian," he said, feeling a little chill just for thinking about it. He looked up the library, glancing through their staff pages. He couldn't find a picture of her. "I know I saw her… And I saw her in my dreams, when the ghost was trying to communicate. Every other face was different, but hers… she was really there."

He sighed, picking absently at his bandages.

"Try looking through newspaper articles."

He jumped, almost falling out of his chair. Byers was lounging in the window with the dog, looking out at the moon. It came across his face in a dramatic streak.

Mulder looked back at his computer, surprised to see Frohike standing nearby. He had a grim expression planted on his otherwise kind face. He slid the mouse over to Mulder's hand, glancing down at the keys. "I think you know what's happening, Mulder."

With his eyes still on the deceased government watchdog, Mulder typed in his worst fears. He went from headline to headline, searching for the name of the library, and the face of the woman he had seen. His last search, perhaps the darkest, was very specific. The words just came to him, like he had already seen them somewhere.

 _Librarian dies in library basement._

She was dead. He was looking right at her smiling face. He had never seen it before that vision, and he had seen it for the second time in the library, while he was perfectly awake. He had felt a chill go through him. He had witnessed her sudden departure.

"She said… she said it had been so long since she was able to talk to someone… she wanted me to stay down and talk to her."

He rested his head in his hands, digging his fingers into his forehead.

Frohike came a little closer, leaning into the screen. "She had a heart attack while she was doing her job. She died over forty years ago."

"I'm losing my mind," Mulder groaned.

He heard the door rattling, and then Iden appeared in his doorway. She was frowning, her little face streaked with tears. "Fox? I had a bad dream."

His heart sunk. Scully had filled him in on her activities while he was away. From what she had described, he could only conclude that Iden was having legitimate psychic visions, in her dreams and while she was awake. The power of her fear was enough to draw objects to her. It was enough to shake the foundation of their home. It was enough to scare Deloris away.

"Come here," he whispered, pulling her up to sit in his lap. He leaned back in his chair and she curled up against his chest like a little puppy dog, whimpering. "Do you want to talk about it?"

She looked up, her eyes glowing in the pale light of the moon.

"I think I… I think I'm going to die."

 **XxX XxX XxX**

 **END OF** _ **"**_ **EPISODE ONE: THE MEADOW"**

 _Next time on the X-Files…_

 **The Sight** : Mulder and Scully face off against an alien parasite who feeds on the psychic abilities of others, namely the local children.


End file.
